


Once was Love // To Build a Home

by sailwordb



Series: Someone to Stay [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Do not repost, F/M, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ireland, Mild Language, PTSD, Post-War, Single Parents, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailwordb/pseuds/sailwordb
Summary: Minerva McGonagall finds the last thing she expects when she visits a quiet Irish village one summer afternoon. It ends with her filing an appeal with the Ministry, setting an innocent man free and changing the course of Wizarding history.OrSomeone did the decent thing and made sure that Harry Potter was raised by someone who would actually care about him.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Sirius Black, Sirius Black/Mary Macdonald, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Someone to Stay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012365
Comments: 33
Kudos: 167





	1. Meet the Tyrrells

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble that turned into something more one summer evening. Re-reading OotP made me sad about Sirius once more, and combined with my thoughts on what would have happened if Harry received something closer to the childhood he should have. The effects on his future-and that of the Wizarding world-as a result. 
> 
> Slightly slow to start, but bear with me!

## Chapter One-Meet the Tyrrells

_Sunday, June 22nd. 1986_ _  
_ _  
_ The village of Annascaul in County Kerry was known for many things. Most famously, for its son Tom Crean. He was an Antarctic explorer who is most well known for his attempts to reach the South Pole. Crean eventually found his way back to Annascaul and opened The South Pole Inn with his wife in 1927.

But to its residents it was known for many more local secrets. Like the cream buns served with hot mugs of tea at Lonergans cafe, the friendly couple who owned O’Donnells who would slip in an extra loaf of bread or bag of apples into their bag when someone was down on their luck, or the hand-made sweets boiled at ‘Aunty Nellies’ which were sold in paper bag twists. Down the road, right on Inch beach lay Sammy’s, which did the best fish and chips in the area. But the real magic lay in the outskirts of the village. Off the beaten path, at the end of a winding trail surrounded by an efflorescence of flowers, was a white washed cottage, in a clearing on the edge of the woods. 

Here was Maire’s Cottage, affectionately known as ‘The Secret Garden’ to locals, and home to a local artist. The artist in question sold earrings and necklaces of finely spun glass, freshly glazed mugs and bowls with images of the picturesque local landscape painted onto the side, as well as numerous drawings, prints and paintings of the surrounding area that locals swore seemed _almost_ magical. All the locals supported her work, and could often be seen encouraging tourists wandering down the hiking trails, or popping in for a day from Dingle or Tralee to pay her a visit. They never left empty handed. 

She hadn’t lived in the town for very long. In fact it had been many years since she’d visited that cottage as a child when her own grandmother had lived there. But she and her two children, known as the ‘Tyrrell twins’ had been there for just over two years. These ‘twins’ (although they were almost two years apart in age) were the real reason she lived here at all. They were her biggest secret. The real dark secret of Annascaul.

For her life had quite recently been much more tumultuous and full of pain and despair-very far removed from this idyllic little village and the lives of those in it. She was marked by a war they would never even hear a whisper about, one that threatened to destroy their very way of life, and she was still grieving those she had lost and those she could never forgive. 

But the woman who was visiting Annascaul today did not know any of these secrets, local or famous. She marched her way through the village, her old fashioned tartan skirt raising an eyebrow or two as locals ambled to and fro on the quiet Sunday afternoon. She was directed to the cottage by a girl sweeping down the counter of the South Pole Inn, her expression and tone portraying her fondness for the artist. 

“Maire Tyrrell? Well that’s just ‘round the corner from here. It’s a bit hidden in there, but you should be able to find it alright if you just follow the path of the violets. Lovely work she does there. Looking for a souvenir?”

“Perhaps.” the woman replied noncommittally, her thick accent contrasting with the younger girls lighter, almost melodic tone. “Thank you kindly for your assistance.” The girl raised her eyebrows at the women's formal tone, but simply smiled in response.  
  
The older woman headed towards the woods behind the pub, and began to make her way down the meandering path, her sharp eyes easily keeping track of the little bunches of purple and blue flowers that guided her way. She finally turned a corner and abruptly came upon a clearing which made her stop in surprise. A charming, white washed two-storey cottage looked as though it had been planted in the middle of the forest, almost hidden by an overwhelming amount of flora and plantlife. From the ivy climbing up the walls, to the wide array of plants, trees, flowers and herbs, she almost felt as though she had stumbled upon a wilder and more expansive version of one of her colleagues' offices.  
  
It was, in a word, idyllic. A cat rested contentedly in a warm patch of sunlight next to a pair of abandoned children's bikes, and a trickling stream flowed adjacent to the pathway that circled the right side of the house. A small, hand-painted sign reading ‘Máire’s Cottage’ was stuck into the earth next to a bunch of sunflowers that nearly met her own shoulders.  
  
The woman almost felt reluctant to intrude upon what had been clearly created as a haven from the world. But she felt it was her duty to protect the occupants of this little home from some potential repercussions if she did not speak to them. She had barely taken a few steps forward when suddenly a woman in her mid-twenties emerged from a smaller building to the left of the main cottage. She was carrying a large basket and humming absentmindedly as she strode towards the house, her dark hair flowing behind her in the gentle summer breeze. 

The two women spotted each other at the same time, recognition and shock obvious on both their features. It was harder to say who looked more surprised. While the older looked more stunned than anything, the younger looked a little angry, almost afraid.

They both appraised the other for a moment, the younger noting how the other hadn’t seemed to have aged a day since she last saw her-from her perfectly pressed robes, to her severe hairstyle which was on par with her characteristically stern demeanour-as they were gathered by a pair of graves, the smell of the unrelenting November rain and freshly dug earth surrounding them. In turn, the older noted the addition of small wrinkles around her former students' eyes, and was saddened to see the tense, guarded way in which she held herself now, so different from her younger self. But when she finally broke the silence, she was taken aback by the raw hostility she could hear in her tone.

“Guess I should’ve expected it to be you Professor. Took you long enough.” She looked slightly disgruntled, adjusting the basket that was held against her waist as she scanned the area surrounding the clearing. 

“I beg your pardon?” the older woman began. “Mary, I.. you live..here?” She was sputtering, something she rarely, if ever, did. But this was one of the last people she expected to see here. 

A former colleague from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had met with her for tea last week, and tipped her off that an unregistered family with extraordinary levels of seemingly accidental, and at times explosive magic were registering on their system on a regular basis over the past few months. They’d both come to the probable conclusion that it was a Muggle family with at _least_ one or two Magical children, who simply had no idea how to handle them and their abilities.  
  
Minerva McGonagall had always favoured an upfront, hands-on approach, and when her colleague had asked for her advice on this issue that didn’t differ. She believed that approaching these families early on, and nipping this problem in the bud was the best course of action for everyone. They would come to understand their childrens’ gifts much earlier and it would ultimately be a much more cohesive experience for both the child and the family to adapt to the Magical World. It also wouldn’t draw the potential of unwanted attention of the Ministry and/or the Muggle police, which could lead to further problems down the line.  
  
Her colleague had supplied her with only a name- _Máire Tyrrell,_ and an approximation of their address once she had decided to assist this family in any way she could, expecting the children to be her pupils eventually. It had never crossed her mind that Máire Tyrrell and Mary MacDonald could possibly be the same person, despite knowing of the girl's Irish heritage. She hadn’t seen her former student, a Gryffindor of her own house, in almost six years. If she had known whose home this was, she would have known right away that there was no requirement for her to explain anything about the Magical world. Mary had been one of her most talented students in the last twenty years, but hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since that last sorrowful night at the cemetery in Godric’s Hollow. 

This same student was looking at her with a shrewd expression, her fingers white where they were clutching the basket to her side. Minerva was surprised by the hostility she had been met with, and couldn’t discern any logical reasoning for it. 

“I suppose you better come in.” Mary-or Maire perhaps-sighed as she glanced around the yard, her eyes narrowed. Her gaze flickered back to the children’s bikes more than once before hastily rearranging her features into a tight smile and swiftly heading towards the house.  
  
“Certainly.” responded Minerva, her tone even despite her puzzlement. She glanced at the bikes as they passed them on their way into the house, but could not see anything strange or unusual about them. When she really considered it, she was surprised that Mary had children, let alone multiple children who were old enough to ride bikes, even as small as the ones there.  
  
The living room they entered was wide and spacious, its white walls decorated with a mish mash of paintings and photographs, the array of sofas and armchairs covered in blankets and pillows in various shades of blue and turquoise, a stack of books on the coffee table next to an assortment of children’s toys. They didn’t linger here, but walked straight across it, and through the glass doors into a cosy, if slightly crowded little kitchen painted a bright sunshine yellow, which smelled of fresh bread and had a black and white tuxedo cat resting in the window. 

“Tea?” she asked without turning around, as she tucked the basket she had been carrying below the table.   
  
“Yes, thank you.” Minerva replied as she entered the room behind her, noting the stiffness of the others' posture. 

Maire began rummaging through the cupboard adjacent to the stove, and gestured for her former Professor to take a seat at the round table as she began to prepare tea. Neither woman spoke as she continued to prepare the tea and slice a few pieces of bread to serve with butter and jam, a Minerva took stock of her surroundings. This room, much like the one they had previously passed through, was bright and airy, full of colorful artwork and photographs lining the wall furthest from her. Despite being quite clean, the main counter was covered with baking supplies and a few aprons in different colours and sizes hung off the back of the door.  
  
Maire soon joined her at the table, silently placing a steaming mug of tea alongside the pitcher of milk, sugar and plate of bread. Neither woman spoke for a few moments. Minerva took this opportunity to survey her former pupil further, from her dark brown hair to the wrinkles around her expressive brown eyes. She noted with sadness that she still kept the sleeve on her left arm pulled down tight to her wrist, covering what lay beneath. As they sipped their tea, the grandmother clock behind her kept ticking, she couldn’t help but notice that Maire kept glancing nervously out the window, almost as though she was waiting for someone.  
  
Finally, Minerva broke the silence.  
  
“Tyrrell?” she queried, arching a brow as Maire finally met her gaze once more. She looked away just as quick, as though afraid to see what would meet her there.  
  
“Mothers maiden name.” she replied briskly, abruptly pulling a slice of bread towards her and beginning to butter it. “My father was a bit of a tosser, as you may recall, and anyways, the locals used to call this Tyrrell cottage anyways, so..”  
  
“Plus it seems to have made an effective disguise of sorts for you, has it not?” Minerva asked coyly, taking a long sip of tea as she watched Mary take a deep breath, almost as though steeling herself, still keeping her gaze away from Minerva. 

“You could say that.”

“I might as well get right to the point then,” Minerva began when her former student still remained evasive. “I did not expect to see any wizarding folk today, let alone one of my own former students. Though I have been equally surprised by your remarkable hostility towards my mere presence, something I have yet to discern the reasoning for.”  
  
“You weren’t expecting me?” she replied, before shaking her head slightly. “Who’d you expect to have done it, Remus?” she snorted. “His condition wouldn’t exactly make it easy, and I guess he was Prefect for a reason you know.”  
  
“Remus… Lupin? Why on earth would I expect Mr. Lupin to be _here_?” 

Minerva was now more confused than ever. She knew the two had been close friends throughout Hogwarts, but after all that had happened she couldn’t fathom why he would be living with Mary. “And I think I know perfectly well who I chose to be Prefect.” she retorted. 

“Wait-What?” Mary was confused now, her brown eyes wide as she looked almost frozen.   
  
“What does Remus Lupin have to do with anything?” Minerva asked her once more, her beady eyes narrowing in a familiar manner. Mary stared at her for a long moment before she glanced around the room, and once more, out the window to the front yard, almost as though it held the answers. 

She leaned forward, rubbing her hands across her face before responding, keeping her eyes shut as she asked: “Minerva, why exactly are you here?”  
  
She didn’t move an inch further as Minerva quickly explained what had brought her to the town of Annascaul, keeping her gaze focused on the ground. Once Minerva had finished, a noticeable air of impatience in her voice, Mary remained still before speaking in a much quieter tone, filled with an emotion Minerva couldn’t quite place. That tone made her feel suddenly anxious for this former student, who-she admitted somewhat begrudgingly-had secretly been one of her favourites when she was at Hogwarts, a time that felt like eons ago now. 

“So, when you came here… you had no idea who it would be..?”she trailed off, looking as stunned as she had earlier in the front yard.  
  
“No.” Minerva observed her for a moment before continuing, her tone cautious. “As I expressed, I was thrown off by the Irish version of your name, as well as the change to your surname.” Mary stood up, moving to gaze out the kitchen window properly, her back to her former professor. “Now Mary, please, what is going on?”  
  
Maire sighed deeply, her small hands running over her head and through her hair before she crossed her arms, a nervous air about her. Minerva looked around the room again, eyeing the children’s cereal boxes in the corner, the small sets of muddy shoes propped up against the skirting board. 

“I wouldn’t know how to begin.” her voice brittle, she continued to look out the window.  
  
“Mary.. you do, have children, am I correct?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“More than one?”  
  
“In a manner of speaking.” 

She didn’t offer up anymore information, and Minerva paused as she tried to figure out what she meant by yet another evasive response, her mind furiously trying to understand what would be causing this time of response. First the hostility, then the confusion, and now the anxiety, and this.. was it… fear?  
  
When she finally turned back around, Minerva was not prepared for the intensity she saw in her expression. Her lions (much like the Hufflepuffs) had always been so open, so unguarded with their expressions, contrasting with the aloof Ravenclaws and coy Slytherins. It was something she greatly admired in some of them, and something that made her fear for the other, more vulnerable of her house. Mary’s expression was so fierce it made her lean back in surprise.  
  
“I don’t know if you will understand.” sounding almost bitter, her anger leaking through as she leaned against the counter. “But Professor-Minerva.. Please, I need you to try. Try not to jump to any conclusions. Please, try to keep an open mind.”  
  
Well now she was definitely alarmed. She had seen this girl grow up in Hogwarts, survive through some of the worst years of the wizarding war they had just barely seen the back of. She had seen her get up to all sorts of mischief with a ragtag group of boys she could hardly bear thinking about, let alone speaking of. But even in all those situations where she had been in trouble, she had never looked as afraid, as angry or as desperate as she did now.  
  
Before she could speak, the front door opened with a resounding _thwack!_ That made the walls shake, announcing the entry of someone else to the house. Mary looked even paler than before, her freckles standing out on her skin. She hastily rearranged her features into a smile as the light, quick footsteps that could only belong to a child rounded the front room and made their way towards the kitchen. The air felt thick with tension, heavy with apprehension. 

“Everything alright love?” Maire asked as someone else entered the room, her expression warm despite her fearful eyes.  
  
Small in stature, the slight figure of six year old Harry Potter was unmistakable. From the untamable shock of black hair, with his round glasses perched on his little nose, he was the spitting image of his father, only in miniature. If it wasn’t for such an overwhelming resemblance, she wouldn’t have believed who was standing in front of her.  
  
“Yes, I-Oh, hello.” he looked at Minerva curiously, his green eyes lighting up with curiousity in such a familiar way it made her heart ache. 

“Harry, this is Professor McGonagall, a teacher of mine from Hogwarts.” Mary explained softly, looking between the two nervously. Harry's eyes lit up at the word Hogwarts, and Minerva smiled kindly despite her shock. She had been one of the last people to see Harry Potter’s hasty, tragic exit from the Wizarding World, leaving him with those rotten relatives of his. 

Or so she thought.  
  
“Pleasure meet you.” she replied, trying to make her voice as kind as possible. 

“Nice to meet you.” his adorable little smile was so sweet, for a moment all she could see was Lily Potter, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. He turned back to Maire. “Could I have some juice please?”

While Maire poured him a glass of juice, Minerva watched the pair closely, her head spinning. 

Harry Potter. 

_Here._  
  
In Ireland.  
  
Not in Little Whinging. In Surrey.

Not with his family. Lily’s family. The only blood relatives he had left. 

How did they not know? How did Albus not know? Minerva had never asked for any explicit details, but she presumed that Albus had warded the Dursley home to the 9’s, and that if _anything_ , anything at all happened to little Harry, either by their hands or a Death Eater resurgence, that he would be the first to know. 

But apparently not. 

She looked over Mary shrewdly, who didn’t appear the least bit guilty for kidnapping the most famous child in the Wizarding World. If anything, she most closely resembled a lioness hovering over her cub, standing by his shoulder as Minerva stared at the two of them. He was wearing light, bright summer clothes, his shorts spattered with mud and flecks of it up and down his left arm.  
  
“Now wash your hands.” she instructed, and Harry stood on a stool in front of the sink in order to begin to do so. Mary sat back down at the table, smoothing down her skirt before muttering quietly enough so only she could hear. “It’s not what it looks like.”  
  
“So you haven’t kidnapped Harry Potter?” she asked baldly. 

“Well, yes. But it’s not so straightforward. Besides, it seems _you lot_ didn’t even know he was missing.” Mary hissed back at her, so quiet she could barely hear her.  
  
“While you may have a point,” Minerva snapped, “That’s no excuse! What on earth could have possibly made you take a child from his family?”  
  
“Because _that_ wasn’t a family. Because despite what people like you and Dumbledore might think; there is never, ever a reason to leave a child in a place like that!” she spat, almost shaking. 

Minerva froze, the harsh reality of that statement making her heart sink. Harry had noticed their whispering by now, and was looking at them with his eyebrows raised.  
  
“Maire?” he asked, trepidation obvious in his voice as he stepped down from the stool. 

“Yes, love?” she smiled at him, crossing her arms to hide how her hands were shaking, whether from rage or fear, Minerva wasn’t sure. He glanced between the two of them more than once, his green eyes wide and fearful.  
  
“Is.. is..” he stuttered painfully, and Minerva felt even more uneasy. “Is she here to-to take me back to them?” he was trembling slightly, obviously either having overheard part of their conversation, or having remarkable insight. Minerva felt a strong urge to reassure the child, even if she didn’t know what it was he needed to hear, even if she didn’t want to lie. Maire obviously felt the same, her eyes wide and anxious in her pale, thin face.  
  
“Oh, love, please don’t worry.” she got up to crouch in front of him, her hands gripping his little shoulders gently. “I _promise_ you will never have to go back there.” she vowed, her voice barely concealing her rage, matching her fiery expression. Minerva didn’t know what had occurred to lead to this situation, but the resolve in her students' voice reminded her that this may not be so black and white. 

“Mam?” came another little voice, and the three of them turned to face the sound. Maire looked almost fearful now, but Harry looked calmer than he had a moment ago, relief breaking out across his features. 

A small girl, maybe a year or two younger than Harry stood at the door, her hand clenched around the handle. Her eyes were narrowed at the three of them with a surprising intensity for someone so young. Even if Minerva had known nothing of Mary’s social life in Hogwarts, of who she had been involved with, there was no mistaking who this child belonged to. Her long tangle of dark curls surrounded her pale face like a halo, and her delicate, aristocratic features were so overwhelmingly familiar it made her gasp, before silently scolding herself for her unnecessary dramatism. 

“Vi, come in and meet a former teacher of mine. Professor McGonagall.”  
  
_Violet._

Minerva stared at the small girl, whose eyes were as bright as her name, scarcely believing what she was seeing. It couldn’t be. 

Mary was watching the two children carefully as Violet moved into the room. The little girl clasped Harry's hand with her own, smiling so affectionately at him the fear left his eyes completely for the first time. 

“Hello.” she replied cautiously, her eyes flicking around the room, as though observing them all carefully.  
  
“Why don’t you two go out and play with Madra?” Maire suggested as she straightened up, her tone calmer than it had been a moment ago. The smaller girl narrowed her eyes again, looking up at Harry for his response. He stared at Maire for a moment until she smiled reassuringly.  
  
“Okay.” he agreed finally with a small smile. “Can we give him a bath later? He got muddy in the river.”  
  
“Again?” Maire sighed, pushing her hair away from her eyes. “I’ve told you two to keep him away from there the day after it's rained you know.”  
  
“We couldn’t stop him!” Violet interjected, shrugging her little shoulders, barely managing to hide her cheeky smile. “We were playing and he came runnering in and dragged me away.” she rolled her eyes. Minerva watched the girl as she spoke, her mannerisms and even that mischievous little smirk confirming her parentage as much as her looks.  
  
“Yeah, well then don’t play in the creek maybe?” Maire suggested, her tone full of mirth that made Harry chuckle mischievously.  
  
“Maybe.” Violet decried non committedly before she pulled Harry from the room, her gaze focusing on Minerva suspiciously for a moment as she left. 

Maire sat back down with a sigh, pulling her hair into a loose bun behind her as Minerva tried to process what she had just seen. She knew she hadn’t seen Maire since the days following that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow, and had wondered from time to time what she had been doing with her life, but never in a million years would she have expected to find her here, with not only the orphan of her murdered friends, but with the child of her former lover. Her former, mass-murdering, Death Eater lover. 

“Merlin's beard, she looks just like Sirius, except…” Minerva trailed off meaningfully as she looked at Mary in surprise. Mary didn’t confirm that she was Sirius’ child. She didn’t need to. Anyone could have guessed. Her hair color may have been a little lighter than her father’s due to Mary's own shade of honey brown, and her nose a little longer perhaps, but she was almost all Sirius but one crucial feature.  
  
“Except for the eyes, I know. They’re all Regulus. It’s unnerving even if I barely knew his brother.” she replied, staring into the depths of her mug. Regulus hadn’t the distinct grey eyes of the Blacks like his elder brother had, they’d been a strange sort of bright blue, almost violet. Minerva hadn’t known the boy a fraction as well as she thought she knew the elder, but his eyes were too distinct not to recognise. When Mary finally looked up and met Minerva’s stunned expression, her brown eyes were teary. 

“She’s younger.” Minerva observed, unsure of what else to say. “You must’ve been pregnant when-”  
  
“Just about six weeks at their funeral.” Mary replied, her fingers white around the mug. She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Talk about a surprise, eh?”  
  
“I must say, it’s a little eerie, seeing the two of them running around together. Those two dark heads bent together about to cause problems.” the memories ran through her mind now, unbidden, of the two boys she had loved as though they were her own. She looked at Mary’s stricken expression after she spoke. “Oh, I-I mean, I can’t imagine how it is for you-”  
  
“No, you can’t.” she snapped, angrily wiping a tear away. “You can’t possibly understand how it is for me.”  
  
She stood up and moved to the window, watching the kids run around and play, her back to her former head of house. Neither of them spoke for some time, the only sound in the room the ticking of the grandfather clock occasionally broken by the distant peals of laughter from the front yard.  
  
“Do they.. know..?” MInerva trailed off meaningfully, glancing at Mary from the corner of her eye, as equally curious as she was unsure of what else to say. Mary still hadn’t offered up much by way of explanation for well, anything.  
  
“Know what? That one of their fathers is imprisoned for supposedly betraying and causing the death of the other?” she pursed her lips. “No.”  
  
“ _Supposedly_ ?” Minerva demanded, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. “You can’t possibly be telling me you think Sirius is innocent.”  
  
“Well who’s to say he isn’t?” she snapped, pulling a large bowl from one of the cupboards and beginning to pour in the ingredients that were sitting on the counter already. She emptied one bag so furiously that flour coated the countertop. “It’s not as if he ever got a trial.”  
  
“Maire,” she paused, concerned for the sanity of the young mother now. “You must remember, you of all people-the evidence was overwhelmingly against him. I mean, Albus himself confirmed it. But of course he got a trial.”  
  
“He did not!” _Slam!_ The bowl hit the table with a clatter, flour and sugar coating not only the counter, but the cupboard, walls, and much of Mary herself. She angrily waved her wand, clearing most of it from her as she whirled around to glare at Minerva.  
  
“Mary, you must be mistaken..” Minerva began. “He had to have gotten a trial. All the Death Eaters did.” She still found it difficult to associate the brethren of Lord Voldemort with the young boy she once knew, but the photos from the massacre the day after Halloween were impossible to forget. As was the sight of a scarred and orphaned Harry Potter alone on a doorstep in a Surrey suburb.   
  
“Oh yeah?” she retorted. “When was it? How did he plead? Do you recall any press coverage from it? Because from the way people talk about any of the Potters now, you’d expect it to have been the trial of the century.”  
  
“I-I..” Minerva was stammering again, twice in one day. But Mary’s words had made her pause once more, despite her conviction. Truth of the matter was, she couldn’t recall any details about Sirius Blacks trial. The papers had been covered with the selfless act of Lily Potter for weeks, the unprecedented, miraculous survival of little Harry Potter, the murder of Peter Pettigrew and the needless casualties of those innocent Muggles. She knew more details than most of the Wizarding Community would be privy to, so she didn’t need to read the papers. But the news had been unavoidable at the time, exacerbated by the tragic attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom several weeks later.

But try as she may, she couldn’t recall a single detail about the trial of Sirius Black.  
  
Maire raised an eyebrow smugly as Minerva struggled to respond. She was right, Sirius’ trial should have been the most tantalising trial of the century, there was no way the papers wouldn’t have reported it, even if it had been short. She remembered Filius telling her over a brew in the Three Broomsticks a few days afterwards of how Sirius had laughed and laughed when he was caught, before saying only one thing.  
  
One damning, unforgivable thing: “It’s all my fault.” 

Despite her desire for it not to be true, there was no denying what those words implied. Even if he hadn’t; he had been the Secret Keeper, there was no getting around that. Unless..  
  
“I spent weeks outside the courtrooms in the Ministry, _weeks_ , waiting and waiting for his trial, or even a glimpse of him on the way in, knowing they might not let me attend.” Mary interrupted Minerva's thoughts, pressing on Minerva's uncertainty. “I know enough about the judicial process to know that those types of suspects are always kept in those holding cells in the basement while they await trial. Even Crouch and the Lestranges.” she spat the last word with disgust evident in her voice. There had been no love lost between Mary and Bellatrix Lestrange long before the war formally broke out.  
  
“Right, of course,” Minerva responded finally, her ingrained teaching habits pushing her to respond to facts with further knowledge. “Because of the act passed relating to Death Eaters-”  
  
“I know the ruddy laws regarding criminal rights,” she snapped, dusting flour off her skirt. “They never get sent to Azkaban before their trial. Marchbanks campaigned fairly hard on that one if you recall after that scandal a few years before. Death Eaters must await trial within the Ministry itself to make sure they don’t come in contact with fellow dark wizards. They even had dementors come from Azkaban to guard the cells when they were having those trials every day.”  
  
“And you never saw him?” Minerva asked, her head spinning, Harry Potter's sudden appearance pushed far from her mind for the time being. She always held faith in her government, despite their missteps and occasional foolish mistakes. But they couldn’t have made a mistake like this? And if they had…. Was there a chance that there was truth to what Mary was saying?  
  
“Never.” she seemed a little calmer now, and she covered her face with her hands before she spoke again. “I was there practically day and night for almost a week, barely sleeping or eating. I couldn’t keep anything down when I did eat. I thought it was just the stress.. The grief. But..” she lowered her hands from her face to place a shaking hand over her flat stomach.  
  
Her eyes were so full of grief and pain it made Minerva look away and watch her shaking hand instead, the tragic realisation dawning on her.  
  
“You realised you were pregnant?” she asked unnecessarily. Maire nodded in response.  
  
“I was hysterical by the 6th day after Halloween. Lily and James were buried by then, Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me where Harry was. I couldn’t bring myself to face Remus again quite yet. Some of the Aurors tried to remove me when I started asking questions, demanding answers, and I was really kicking up about it, throwing a right strop.” she smiled sadly. “They were threatening to arrest me, but thankfully Kings intervened, and he was concerned enough to bring me to St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“Mary, I’m so sorry; that you’ve had to shoulder this alone.” remembering once more, just how young she was. How young they all had been. The child soldiers they had trained in lieu of dreams for their futures. “How have I not heard about this? Surely the love-child heir to the Black family would have made the gossip circuit, if not the papers?”

Mary smirked, a semblance of her younger, more lighthearted self shining through. “Yeah, I hightailed it out of St. Mungo’s as soon as they gave me the news. I rented a flat in Muggle London, and got a job in a florist shop. You know, those Muggle Herbology shops that sell flowers.”  
  
“You’ve been living as a Muggle?” Minerva couldn’t help being surprised. Mary had been a very talented witch.  
  
“ _Weeell_ ..” she enunciated the word slowly, still smirking slightly. “They did have the most beautiful, long-lasting flowers all that year. Their competitors were just seething with jealousy. None of them could find a logical reason for such a massive improvement.” Minerva shook her head at her antics.  
  
“But every Magical birth is reported…” she couldn't help reminding the girl.  
  
“Not if you give birth outside St. Mungos, don’t have any type of Healer present, and use magical warding” she corrected. “Violet Alice Tyrrell Black. Merlin, what a mouthful, eh? She was born on June 18th the following year. You have no idea how much I missed Wizarding healing potions by the time she was born.”  
  
“How on earth did you manage to raise her by yourself? For what, four years?”  
  
“My employer was great about it actually. Let me keep her behind the counter as I worked in the main shop in Lambeth. Not saying it wasn’t hard though. I never thought I’d be a single, broke mother living all alone in the Muggle world. Both my parents and almost all my friends are dead. But I had this beautiful little baby who needed me to be okay, who needed me to protect her.. So I had no other choice. It took me over two years before I was recovered enough.. mentally, that is, to inquire after Harry.”

Mary had always been strikingly blunt. Minerva had been so distracted by everything else that had happened in the last ten minutes that she had momentarily managed to forget about Harry. She schooled her face into what must have been a familiar formidable expression, as Maire set her mouth into a similar firm line.  
  
“I figured that Petunia, her sister, would have gotten over her petty grievances once Lily died. That she would raise him as her own.” she spoke softly, her gaze distant as though she was much further away than the little kitchen they sat in. Minerva felt a chill settle over her that didn’t reflect the unusually warm summer day outside. “I just wanted.. To see him, you know? To check in, see how he’d grown. I felt horribly guilty for not going sooner, Sirius and I were made his godparents after all.”  
  
She paused when the dog barked twice, suddenly tense, but it was soon followed by loud laughter from the two kids. She relaxed once more, reheating her tea with a jab of her wand before continuing.  
  
“Minerva, you wouldn’t believe what I found there.” her voice tight, controlled. “It was near Christmas. I wanted to see if perhaps I could take him out for the day, maybe see the decorations and city lights in London, maybe establish an I dunno.. Aunt like relationship? I left Vi with a friend and set off to Little Whinging. I didn’t want to alarm them, because I remembered how… anti-wizarding they were. So I disillusioned myself and watched through the windows first.”

“Maybe they were a little strict, but surely..” Minerva said desperately. She may be angry with Maire for her seemingly foolhardy actions, but she had seen too many abused kids fall through the cracks at Hogwarts not to take this seriously. Maire had always been a highly intelligent student, a voice of reason, and if she was saying that she felt there was a valid reason to remove Harry from his home, she trusted her judgement enough to at least _listen_ before rushing off to the relevant authorities.   
  
“This was more than strict, Minerva. This was like… this was almost as bad as what happened to Sirius. Perhaps without the Black madness.”  
  
Despite her current feelings regarding Sirius Black, she couldn’t help but remember the bruises he came back to school with, the burn marks on his hands, the thin gauntness of his face, and haunted eyes. She could remember the horrific stories that James Potter himself had eventually come to her with, and how it had been bad enough that the Potter’s had taken him in altogether one summer after he had almost died. She had wondered more than once if it was his cruel, dark parents who were to blame for corrupting the boy she had known to be so rebellious, yet so kind-hearted, and so fiercely loving. She still couldn’t fathom how he could have changed so much in the two years following his graduation, but she couldn’t help feeling as though his parents were somewhat responsible for leading him so far from the light. 

But she too felt as though she was partially to blame for the tragedy that befell that ragtag group that had brought so much life and energy to Gryffindor tower. Surely she should have noticed if one of her own was becoming radicalised to such an extent that they would betray their closest friends..  
  
But if there was a chance, a _chance_ , that Sirius was innocent, one part of her was denying it wholeheartedly, pointing at the facts, the evidence, like she had been trained to, as she always did-while the other, her emotional and feeble heart, was jumping for joy shouting ‘I knew it! I knew it!’ Only for Albus confirming that he had made Sirius the secret keeper himself she would have never believed it when she first heard. If Maire was on to something.. Then who did she think was really responsible? How could she explain the whole secret keeper business?

However it was Harry who needed her attention right now, she needed the full story from Maire before she could even think about Sirius Black any further. Harry was the living, breathing, irrefutably innocent child whose life had already been fraught with so much sadness. She refocused her attention on Maire, who looked as serious as she had ever seen her.  
  
“How bad?” she managed eventually, unsure if she wanted to hear, but knowing she had to. 

“They _hated_ him. You couldn’t imagine the way they looked at him. I’ve never seen that much animosity directed at such a small child. I got there around 9:30, it was a Saturday. He was cooking the entire breakfast for them. When he burnt himself with some piping hot oil he was scolded, slapped and deprived of food. Who does that to a four year old?” Maire scrunched her eyes up tightly before continuing.  
  
“I spent three hours watching them, and even if one could explain away the bruises and cuts that were barely beginning to heal, that was more than enough. While that imbecile Vernon read the paper, Petunia gossiped with a neighbor on the phone, and their son watched some insipid cartoon, Harry was made to do all the washing up, then promptly sent out to work on the garden, pulling stupid weeds and whatnot. Have you ever seen a four year old desperately trying to stop himself from crying as he worked through an untreated second degree burn in the middle of December without a coat?”  
  
Minerva felt as though her heart had dropped through her stomach. How could they have let this happen? How could Albus have? It didn’t matter that he was the ‘saviour of the Wizarding World’ as they had lauded him for years. This was a child. An innocent child. No child should be treated like a slave.  
  
If Lily Potter could see what was going on now, Minerva had no doubt she’d be spitting with rage. She’d seen the redhead explode during arguments with James Potter far too many times over their years at Hogwarts. She’d always been a champion for justice, firmly against bullying, much like Maire here. She’d be angry enough over this happening to any child- Minerva had never forgotten how Sirius had broken down in Lily’s arms one day before they were due to get the train home for Easter, his fear palpable-but the fact that it was her own child who had been treated so poorly, and by her own sister? Her own flesh and blood? Minerva felt choked with such deep shame, she felt she could scarcely breathe. 

As Minerva tried to focus her churning thoughts, Maire kept speaking.  
  
“Of course I stormed in there, guns blazing. They practically _offered_ him to me. I nearly hexed that husband of hers when he actually said the words ‘Good riddance’. It took weeks and weeks for Harry to trust me, weeks for him to be comfortable, to stop jumping in fright when a door slammed, or when a glass broke. It took so long to create this safe space for him.”  
  
Minerva didn’t speak for a few minutes, crumbling the remnants of a piece of bread in her hands as she stared at the floor, her brain whirring and sorting and categorising her thoughts. She often took a few minutes to process massive news like this, making sure she was able to enact the best course of action; but once she made a decision on what to do, on what the _right_ thing to do was-she wouldn’t change her mind. 

When she finally spoke, her crisp, cool demeanour had finally returned to her. But she could barely keep the tremble out of her voice. She wondered if Mary could hear it. 

“Do you have a pensieve? Or perhaps a way for me to take a copy of any memories that will support this? I’ll need substantial evidence to bring to Albus in order to start the work on granting you permanent custody.”  
  
Maires expression flitted from one of shock to one of pleased acceptance. She nodded resolutely before beckoning Minerva to follow her through the double doors, and back into the sitting room. The June sunlight was streaming in through the open door, accompanied by giggles that wafted in on the breeze. Minerva sat down on the wooden chair by the door, waiting to see what Maire was going to do.  
  
“Harry, can you come in here?” she called, her voice warm, but with a flicker of uncertainty.

Harry appeared in the door a moment later, his big green eyes anxious. He tugged nervously at the hem of his shorts as he stood in the doorway, framed by the brightness of the exceptionally sunny day.  
  
“Harry love,” she beckoned him closer, and crouched down in front of him again so that they were eye level. “Do you remember when I told you that a time may come where I have to tell people about your Aunt and Uncle, about-about how they weren’t good to you?”  
  
He stared at her, biting his lip. “You mean.. I have to-to show?”  
  
“Only if you feel okay with it. I just need to show Minnie here,” she smiled warmly at Minerva, as though to show Harry there was nothing to fear. Minerva managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes at the nickname, but only just. 

“Do I have to?” he whispered-although not very well-Minerva could still hear him from across the room. Mary gently pushed his fringe away from his forehead, looking at him with so much love, it made Minerva feel confident in her decision. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she assured him. “But Minnie here would understand, really, she would. She won’t think anything bad about you.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Because you’re not the bad one Harry,” she looked sad as she spoke, gently stroking his little face with her right hand. “She helped me save another little boy from some mean, nasty people before.”  
  
“Really?” he turned and looked at her with something akin to admiration evident in his bright eyes.  
  
“Really.” she assured him, watching him carefully, her heart heavy. “Harry, if you can show me..” she hesitated, looking at Maires intense expression once more, before plunging straight ahead. “If you can show me, I can make sure you never have to see them again.”  
  
“Promise?” he asked, softer and much less confident than his father had ever been.  
  
“I promise,” she vowed. “And a Scotswoman never breaks her promise.” she winked at him and he smiled shyly back at her, his shoulders relaxing a little.  
  
“Okay.” he looked back at Maire, who leaned in and kissed his forehead before standing up to her full height once more. He shyly offered her his hand, and she clasped it in his before walking over to Minerva.  
  
“Wait!” cried a little voice, and Minerva looked to the door to see Violet standing there. She ran over to Harry and reached for both of his hands. He looked at her with an expression that reminded her-in a way that made her heart sink even further-of the way Sirius Black used to look at James Potter whenever things had seemed particularly difficult in his home. When he had seemed particularly lost. A look of hope, of absolute trust. 

Minerva wasn’t certain if that made this easier, or perhaps even harder to bear. He had barely shown her the healing scars on his back before she shook her head, gesturing at Mary to tell the poor child to pull his shirt back down. She’d seen enough with just a glance. 

Mary looked very solemn as she met Minerva’s gaze, a sad sort of understanding passing between them. Minerva looked down to see Harry peeking up at her under his messy fringe. Little Violet stared at her as well, her gaze remarkably suspicious for a four year old.  
  
“Thank you Harry.” Minerva had never heard her voice so soft, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge that. “Fancy a biscuit?”  
  
As if on cue, the expressions of both the small children before her lit up, previous suspicions and fears forgotten. 

“Ooh, yes please!”

“Biscuit! Biscuit!”  
  
Noting how Mary barely withheld her own smile at their reaction, Minerva wordlessly summoned two shortbread biscuits from her bag, handing one to each child.

Minerva strode away from the house shortly afterwards with a determined glint in her eye and a bottle full of memories in her bag. She truly had her work cut out for her today. 

She had an injunction to file with the Ministry on behalf of Sirius Black. But first she had to see a man about a pensieve. A man who was in a lot of trouble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two and three to follow shortly, with appearances of our favourite Marauders promised!


	2. Breath of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin had always been prone to brooding. He's getting by, just about satisfied with the monotony of the way his life has turned out. But when he catches up with an old friend he ends up with more than he'd bargained for. 
> 
> And his mother had always said that the winds of change were a good thing.
> 
> Perhaps this time, they would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so so much to everyone who has checked this story out! Your interactions made my week! :)
> 
> This chapter has been open on my screen all week, but I was in the middle of moving house, so I finally got a chance to finish one final edit this morning. Its probably a little long, but it helps set up for the chapters ahead.

_Sunday, June 22nd, 1986_

Remus woke with a grumble to a persistent tapping. He didn’t know what, or who, could be making such an irritating noise. His house was heavily warded during the full moon, and despite the long shadows in the room telling him the lateness of the hour, he was still aching from the previous night. He pulled himself upright into a sitting position with a groan, grabbing a thin blanket off of the couch to wrap around himself. He squinted and cast an eye around his living room, finally spotting a ruffle of feathers through a gap in the curtains.  
  
He got to his feet, nearly tripping on his way over to the window. He pulled back the curtain to be greeted with the setting sun and was greeted by a round little auburn feathered owl staring up at him imperiously. He felt a shiver run up his spine that he wasn’t entirely sure he could blame on the cold of his unheated cottage. 

Sometimes Wales was nearly as cold as Hogwarts had been, despite it being the middle of the summer. He wasn’t sure why looking at this owl made him feel funny, but as he reluctantly opened the window to let it hop inside, that feeling only grew.  
  
He reached out to take the scroll tied tightly to his leg, and the owl clicked his beak at him twice, almost looking as though he had rolled his eyes. Right as he picked up the scroll, and saw his name written in a familiar slanting script on the outside, the recognition slammed into him.  
  
He had seen this owl at his table at breakfast dozens of times, as angry then as it was now. Merlin, he had been in the bloody shop when this owl had been bought. He still had a small scar on his smallest finger from when it had nipped him as they tried to get it into his cage for the first time. His stomach flipped as he looked at the scroll in his hands. 

He hadn’t spoken to Mary in a long time, only once or twice since that horrible, fateful Halloween night. Their shared grief had only wrenched them apart where it could have brought them closer.  
  
These last few years had been as lonely as his years in Hogwarts had been full of joy. He had lost everything in one night, and despite the fact that Mary was the only other one still around, the only other one who could possibly still relate, they had lost each other too. He had often wondered how she was, what she was up to. But he’d never been able to build up the courage to get in touch. He didn’t know if he wanted to talk about Sirius, about the horrible things he had done- he didn’t know if he _could_ .  
  


The few times they had met up had been so tense, so painful, that he had been almost relieved when neither of them contacted the other again. Time had moved on, and he the reluctant passenger. By now it had been over four years since he saw her last. 

He opened the letter with trepidation, not surprised by it’s brevity but certainly intrigued by its contents.

  
_Remus,_ _  
_ _  
_ _Hope this didn’t wake you too early after last night. I know it’s been a while. I have something I’d like to talk to you about. Could you meet me this Thursday? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important._ _  
_ _  
_ _I’ve attached the details overleaf, if you have any problems with it, one of the proprietors should be able to help you get to Kenmare. If another day is better for you, let me know._ _  
_ _  
_ _Send word back with Talia here, she’s the only owl who can get through._ _  
_ _  
_ _Mary_ _  
_ _  
_ He scanned the contents overleaf, noting with some surprise that it directed him to floo to a Wizarding shop in Cardiff, passing through two more Wizarding floo spots in the south of Ireland before finally arriving in the Wizarding community of Kenmare. From there she had provided coordinates for him to apparate to.  
  
He had only been to Ireland once before, during the summer before his seventh year. But he was fairly certain it had been Kenmare, as they had even visited the Kestrels home pitch; somehow managing to get drunk with a few of the players on the last evening. He wouldn’t have thought that Mary had moved back to Ireland. Last he had seen her, she had been sleeping at a friends house in London, as her own home that she had shared with Sirius had been taken over by the Aurors as a potential crime scene, barely letting her grab a few of her own possessions before warding it against her and everyone else.  
  
Whatever the reason for her moving back, and for this impromptu contact-getting out of Wales, and out of his own head for a bit would be good. He’d lost yet another job this month, and was finding it hard to keep food on the shelves so he’d been wallowing particularly badly this summer. He did have one part time job that he had managed to keep a hold of, but only because it was just three days a week. 

He offers the bird some water and a few scraps of bread before quickly writing down an affirmative message before he can think twice about it. He gently but firmly attached it to her leg, watching it carefully to avoid a repeat of the first time they met. (At least there wouldn’t be a dark-haired boy howling with laughter in the background if it did). 

*~*

_Inch Beach. Thursday June 26th, 1986_

Remus wound his scarf tight around his neck as he gazed out upon the water. The directions Maire had provided him had led him to a patch of trees not too far from the beach, which was currently experiencing the typically cold Celtic summer. The waves lapped the shore as the wind blew the sand across the beach. There were a few brave souls balancing on those Muggle surfboards, and couples and families were strolling around the area, traipsing through the little tourist shop, or ordering coffee and scones at the cosy cafe that looked out upon the ocean.  
  
This area definitely seemed Muggle, he couldn’t sense anything too Magical about it at all. He couldn’t help but wonder once more why Mary had asked to meet him here. He was a little early, so he ordered a cup of tea and sat down on one of the picnic tables overlooking the ocean. He had only taken a few sips when he felt someone approach the table from his right side.  
  
He looked up to see Mary, her light brown hair blowing around her face, smiling down at him warmly. She looked tired, but her smile seemed genuine, her eyes warm. She tucked her long green coat in tight around her thin frame as she sat across from him, and he wondered if perhaps she was a little thinner than he recalled. She placed her own takeaway cup on the table, her hands wrapping around it. 

Remus couldn’t help but feel happy to see her, despite his uncertainty over why this sudden meeting. Seeing her was a little bittersweet. It brought back a whole tumble of memories that both haunted him, and reminded him of how good his life had once been. 

“Hi Remus,” she greeted, studying his face cautiously.  
  
“Hello Mary.”  
  
“Thank you for meeting me here,” her accent was a little stronger than he recalled, and he wondered if it was just the effects of time, or if perhaps she had been back in Ireland for quite a while. “Did you find it ok?”  
  
“Of course.” he smiled at her. “Yeah, no problem at all, your directions were very concise. I wasn’t expecting to be this far from Kenmare though. Isn’t that where you grew up?” She nodded, pausing to take a sip of her tea before she spoke again.  
  
“Yes, my parents house was in Kenmare. Good memory. I’ve been living in this area for a little while now though, near a town not too far from here.” She pulled a small parcel from her pocket, and opened it to reveal two chocolate digestive biscuits, handing him one without another word. 

It was such a familiar sight he started. He remembered countless mornings-they had been two of the earlier risers in their little group-sitting together in the common room, the courtyard, the house in Godric’s Hollow; watching the sun rise, the snow fall, the rain crashing into the earth, steaming mugs of tea in their hands, just like now. James used to accompany them sometimes, he had always been bouncing with energy no matter the hour. Lily would join them eventually, half asleep and drowning in one of James’ jumpers. Remus averted his gaze from the empty seats beside him, not wanting to dwell on that thought any further than he had to. 

She smiled at him once more as she dipped her biscuit in her tea and began to eat it. They watched the waves for a while, a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but not as familiar as it had once been. He couldn’t tell if she was being quiet on purpose, or if perhaps this is just what she was like but after a while he broke the silence. 

“Mary, it is lovely to see you.” he began awkwardly. 

“But you’re wondering why I’ve summoned you here, out of the blue, after almost four years?” she continued with a wry smile. 

“You could say that.” he shrugged sheepishly. He watched as she fiddled with the thin silver bracelets on her wrist, seeming a little more nervous than she had before. He stayed quiet for a few minutes, hoping she would begin to open up by herself. He had never been one to prod and poke at people when they clearly have something to say that is important to them. Mary was quite articulate, and he trusted that the words would come to her when she was ready. 

“I know we’ve both… kept our distance from one another. And while it's been horrible to feel like..”  
  
“Like the only one left?” 

She nodded with a grimace. Just like old times, Mary seemed to get exactly what he was feeling without the need for too many words. Although she was also the only other one who could relate he hadn’t forgotten that this was different for her of course. After everything she and Sirius had been through; everything they were to each other. How does one deal with that kind of betrayal?  
  
“It was just too painful.. Too raw. I’m guessing you may have felt similar?” she didn’t wait for his confirmation before continuing. “I think Lily and James would be angry at us for not keeping in touch though, let alone not even being friends really.”  
  
Hearing their names didn’t sting quite as much as it would have the last time they’d met, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t argue with her though. He knew James, their mother hen, would be devastated that the two of them didn’t have any kind of relationship anymore. Knowing him, he would’ve just blamed himself. He didn’t know if Mary's existence over the past few years had been quite as lonely as his own, but he doubted they were smooth sailing either. Almost everyone knew of her connection to the Potter’s, as well as to Sirius.   
  
“So you propose we rectify that?” he tucked his hands into the sleeves of his thin coat.  
  
“I do, and-” she stopped when she noticed him shivering. She waved her wand discreetly under the table, and he felt a warmth spreading through his bones that made him feel like he was standing in front of a lit fireplace. He could’ve cast that charm himself. He should’ve. But there was something about the innate kindness of someone else doing it for you that it made him smile. “Sorry, it was much warmer earlier in the week. I just figured the beach was easiest to meet at. I live about twenty minutes away from here.”  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s nice here.” he did like this beach, it felt very wild and free. There was something calming about the wide, open spaces that made him feel safer, more content. “Twenty minutes, walking?”  
  
“Oh, no.” she smiled to herself, as though there was some sort of inside joke. “By car.” she turned to point at a bulky turquoise car nestled in between two slightly smaller dark cars in the nearby parking lot. Her mother had been a Muggle Born witch, he knew that. But last he remembered it had been Sirius who had been more interested in driving, motorcycles that is. He was fairly certain Mary had never learned, but perhaps he was wrong.  
  
“Nice car.” he commented. It looked like something he had seen in magazines years ago, back when they were teenagers. He hadn’t been in a car since before his mother died. His father hadn’t needed to use their one after she passed, and he had never learned himself.  
  
“1970 Morris Minor,” she supplied, although the name meant nothing to him.  
  
“When did you learn to drive?”  
  
“About four years ago.” Once again, she smiled as though she was holding onto a secret. “I’ll explain later. But first, how are you Remus? Where are you living now?”  
  
“Back in Wales. It’s not ideal, but it’s my mother's old cottage, and even though it’s falling apart. It is free, so…” She was looking at him knowingly, but didn’t pass any further comment. 

They talked aimlessly for a while, and the sun even peeked out from behind the clouds for a while as the beach got slightly busier. It felt wonderful to talk to someone he knew again. Someone who knew him, really knew him, someone who-at one point at least-cared about him. Despite that, Mary seemed more reserved than before; she was quieter, her humour drier and her words succinct where before they had been blunt or cavalier. Or perhaps that was just age.They had scarcely been adults when everything had changed so horribly.  
  
“So.” she looked at the ocean as she spoke, the change in her tone as sudden as the straightening of her posture. “I need to talk to you about something.. rather, er, important.”  
  
He almost felt as though she was about to say serious, and the purposeful avoidance of it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They had carefully skirted around the subject so far over the last hour, but now it seemed she was suddenly taking the plunge.  
  
“I don’t know if we should-” He began, unsure of how he was even going to finish that sentence.  
  
She held a hand up, her eyes sharper than they had been a moment ago. “Please Remus, this will be hard enough to get out.”  
  
“Alright.. I do get the feeling that I'm not going to like this.”  
  
“Perhaps.” She stared out at the ocean, taking a deep breath as though she was about to take a plunge underwater before continuing in one fell swoop. “They’re reopening Sirius’ case, they’re giving him a trial.”  
  
_What?_  
  
He stared at her, his whole body trembling. She seems eerily calm about this news, this horrible, earth-shattering news. Why, why, why? Why would they bring all this up again?  
  
“What do you mean, giving him a trial?” he snarled. “Surely you mean a retrial?”  
  
“No,”she spoke in a calm, even tone that he knew meant she was trying very hard to keep her cool. “As you might recall, he never got one.”  
  
“That’s.. That’s…what?” he stares at her, thrown for a moment. “He didn’t? Well, I thought-look.. he admitted to it. He did it. He was the secret-keeper! Why would we need to hear why he did it? Why would we want the whole world to know why Sirius did something so..so..cruel? That won’t help anything. That won’t bring them back Mary!” He stands up so abruptly he knocks what’s left of his tea to the ground, and it catches in the wind, spattering tea across the sand, evaporating into the air.  
  
She looks at him for a long moment, her eyes hard, her expression unfathomable. He can feel people staring at them, but he’s too agitated to be embarrassed. She discreetly and wordlessly casts a privacy charm with her wand, and gestures for him to sit down. He’s impressed by her command of her magic, but is too agitated to comment. He shakes his head silently, waiting for something she could say to rationalise this.  
  
“Are you completely certain about that?” her voice is eerily calm. “Can you swear, with every fibre of your being, that you are 100% positive he is guilty? That Sirius, the crazy, loving, loyal boy you grew up with-that he really was capable of this?” 

“Mary, I think you may be biased-” he protests, but she cuts him off.  
  
“Of course I am. But swear it to me, Remus. Swear it, and I’ll believe you.”

He looks into her eyes and knows she means that. Despite their distance, despite all this time, he knows her. He knows she would do anything for her friends. She would follow them to the ends of the earth. She was there for him throughout all his years at Hogwarts, just like the Marauders were. Through thick and thin. It is the memory of this unwavering support that compels to stammer out, surprising himself: 

“I-I can’t.” 

Shakily, he sits down. She regards him for a moment, her small, pale hand reaching out to clasp with his. Memories of Sirius, the ones he tries to repress-come rushing back with full force. This bounding force of energy. The unwavering friend. The resilient Animagus he suggested they become. _For him._ The love in his eyes as he looked at James, at Lily, at Harry. Those he would eventually, somehow betray most horribly. He feels the tears prick his eyes, the confusion churning in his gut. He meets her gaze, and he recognises her strength that’s just barely masking the fear underneath.   
  
“But, Dumbledore said-”  
  
“Dumbledore can be full of shit.”  
  
He’s flabbergasted. Mary? Disavowing their Headmaster? The leader of the Order? She was a Gryffindor through and through. He’d never met a Gryffindor that didn’t think Dumbledore was as brilliant as they came. He himself was forever indebted to Albus Dumbledore. He raises an eyebrow in response.  
  
“Let’s just say… it wouldn’t be the first time he completely fucked up. But that’s a story for later.” she dismissed, but the purse of her lips tells him it’s not something he is going to like.  
  
He runs his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to comprehend what she is telling him. She seems to believe that Sirius is... _innocent_ ? He can’t deny that deep, deep down, he had longed for that to be the case. But based on what? The facts go against him. He can’t even say he knew Sirius all that well towards the end of the war, after their massive falling out. He can’t speak for certain. All he knows is that Sirius was the secret keeper, and a few weeks later, three of his friends were dead, a child orphaned. A war suddenly over. All of them more alone than ever.  
  
“Tell me,” he requests. She straightens up as though she’s answering a question in school-or more accurately, arguing her point with a teacher.  
  
“One, he never got a trial,” she holds out a finger and taps it. “Even if I was completely convinced of his guilt, the rest of them did receive a trial. Two, this is Sirius. Barely anyone who actually knew him has had an easy time believing this. Those that have, based that solely on his last name; the same one he rejected the entire time I knew him. Three, even if he had sold them out to Voldemort, wouldn’t you want to know why? Does it not drive you mad not knowing?”  
  
“Well, yes, all good points, certainly.” she looks satisfied for a moment before he adds. “But, what about the spy in the order?” 

“Tell me Remus, did Peter ever come to you, whispering in your ear about a spy in the order? Did he ever point a finger at Sirius? Saying he was the only one he had told certain things?” her arms crossed, her jaw set, he’s certain she already knows the answer. But how?  
  
He falters. “I-How do you know that?” Peter had done just what she suggested. He had been nervous, anxious, seeking guidance. He had come to Remus, saying he knew James’ would never doubt Sirius. 

It was ultimately part of what had convinced him of Sirius’ guilt; why would Peter, arguably the weakest of their group, come to him about this and lie? Poor Peter, who had lost his life. What would Peter have to gain by- “No. You can’t mean…”  
  
“I don’t know what to think,” she shrugs, her eyes sad. She looks at her hands, clasped in her lap. “I just know that he did the exact same to Sirius. Why do you think he was so quick, so rash to turn on you the way he did? The rest of us just thought the stress of the war, of everything was getting to him before I overheard Pete talking with him one day.”  
  
He studies her for a moment, trying to figure out how genuine she is being. His falling out with Sirius had been deeply upsetting. One moment things were fine, but in between his undercover operations with the packs, on a long overdue trip home-Sirius suddenly turned on him, in a way he had never expected. Sirius had done what he had always sworn he never would do, and made Remus feel like nothing more than the monster that he hated, so deep down inside. The one that paced beneath the surface. 

Always pacing. Always waiting. Always there.

Inescapable. 

James, Lily and Peter hadn’t changed the way they treated him at all. But the rare times he was back in the Wizarding World, Sirius had stayed away from Godric’s Hollow. Mary had been as kind as ever; and they rarely mentioned Sirius, let alone discussed him, but he had always wondered if they had all secretly believed Sirius. 

If they had all seen him as a monster.  
  
“Why now? What’s changed? Why haven’t you said any of this before?”  
  
“Well,” she sighs, adjusting the wand holster hidden beneath her sleeve. “I met with Minnie last week.”  
  
“Minnie? McGonagall? You can’t mean to tell me you’ve talked her into this as well?”  
  
“The very one and same. She spoke to Dumbledore-more like chewed him out I’d say-and then spoke with Kingsley and submitted an official petition for a trial. Its a wonder she got it all through really, and with such speed.”  
  
“So she really believes it then?”  
  
“I can’t say for certain. But she’s doubtful enough to want to hear what he has to say. To give him a chance. Plus, she’s fuming that he never got a trial.”  
  
He turns away from Mary for a moment to examine his shaking hands. He can see the grains of sand blowing away beneath his feet. He watches them for a moment, everchanging, ever constant. 

He doesn’t know if he doesn’t believe Mary, or if he just doesn’t want to. Everything had slotted very neatly inside his mind. The mistakes and missteps and betrayals all accounted for. Everything made sense. Everything added up. But did it?

“And you?” he challenges, looking up at her again. Her resolve flickers for the first time, fading away and leaving behind something much more primal, much more raw. 

“I have to-” she stops, clears her throat and then ploughs ahead. “I have to believe theres.. A chance. This is _Sirius_ . My Sirius. Our Sirius. I’ve spent so long feeling… _angry_ , and abandoned, and lost and yet.. Somehow, there’s still hope.” she pushes a lock of hair behind her left ear. “I’ve never been able to shake the thought that there’s _something_ I missed. Something unaccounted for.”  
  
Remus doesn’t speak for a moment, the emotion coursing through his old friends words strong enough to make him wonder. He’d never expected this narrative to come to fruition, despite the relationship Mary and Sirius had-or was it have? He doubted she had been able to see him while he had been in Azkaban. 

While she certainly made it sound like Sirius still mattered to her, it had been over four years, had she moved on? She would be well within her right to. It wasn’t quite his place to ask. Not after all this time.  
  
“Mary-”  
  
“We owe him that. The chance to tell his side of the story. The chance to be certain.” she interrupts, a determined glint in her eye. “I’m not sure if I can live with myself otherwise.”  
  
“You’re right.” he agrees, although his heart thundering away in his chest begs to differ. The last thing on earth he wants is to dredge all of this up again, to relive some of the worst days of his life. To actually _see_ Sirius again. But Mary is right. They owe him, and themselves that.  
  
And James and Lily. 

“Have you seen Harry, you know, since?” she asks abruptly. He looked up, bewildered, wondering how she had quickly changed tack from trials and Death Eaters and Azkaban to Harry. He felt a pang in his heart when she mentioned his name, outweighed only by the guilt he was trying his darndest to ignore.  
  
“No, no, I haven’t,” he shook his head, staring at the sand and grass beneath his feet. “Dumbledore would only tell me that he was safe, and with someone in Lily’s family. Everytime I request access, he’s told me it’s better if he grows up away from the Wizarding world. I mean, he’s Dumbledore, so he probably has a point, even if I don’t see it now, I trust that he will be right in the end, so I--What?” he paused when he noticed her hands had clenched into fists.  
  
“Guessing you don’t think he's been left with Petunia and her husband, right?” her tone was bitter, but he didn’t get the feeling that it was aimed at him.  
  
“I, no-of course not. Petunia and Lily hadn’t spoken in so long, her husband despised all things Magic as much as she did-if not more. And as far as I knew, she’d never even met Harry. Why would anyone consider placing Harry with them?”  
  
“That’s a question best left for Dumbledore.”  
  
“You can’t really mean that he left Harry with the Dursleys? For all this time?” he felt furious. He knew he wasn’t the most suitable choice of guardian, what with his own affliction and inability to hold down a steady job. But surely he’d be better than a pair of Wizarding hating Muggles who despised the boys parents? Probably despised him for that matter.

Anyone would be a better choice, Mary would have been a great choice, even with her young age at the time. She and Sirius had been- he stopped that train of thought immediately. Thinking of Sirius was still far too painful, and thinking of him in relation to Harry still made him furious.   
  
“Unfortunately, I do. He was with them until just before last Christmas.”  
  
“What? You mean-where is he now? What happened?”  
  
“They weren’t very good to him.” her voice is eerily flat, she toys with the frayed ends of her scarf anxiously, glancing up to see him looking furious.  
  
“Elaborate.” he demands, not even caring how rude he’s being.  
  
“They practically treated him like a house-elf. Worse than I could have imagined. I doubt he’d ever known any love, or care in the entire time he had been there.”  
  
“Oh.” his voice is as small and as useless as he has apparently been all these years. 

Mary wasn’t one to exaggerate, but neither did she beat around the bush. If this was how she described it, he was very confident in her impression of the situation. He feels too sick to ask for any more information, and wonders if that makes him cowardly. Not even wanting to hear about what can only be described as abuse is pathetic in comparison to Harry, sweet, little adorable Harry, having to live through that.  
  
“And now?” he manages through his fury, watching her carefully. 

“He’s safe.” she assures him, relief breaking out over her own features. She meets his gaze, her own resolute. “I swear it to you, he’s safe now. They won’t ever fucking touch a hair on his head again.”  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“He’s with a family. He’s safe.” she promises, and she sounds so certain he can’t help but trust her. 

  
“Okay.. Okay. I guess I can live with that.”  
  
The silence courses through them like the wind that is currently running wild through his hair. Both lost to their own thoughts, and Remus presumes that Marys, like his own, are with Harry. He’d been the sweetest little thing he’d ever encountered. James' cheekiness combined with Lily’s charm. He’d always figured that he’d be unstoppable once he got older. He wonders if he’s managed to retain any of that. Or if Harry would even recognise him now. 

Mary unexpectedly breaks into his thoughts, her voice thinner than before. 

“I must confess, I have further reasons for this distance. I’ve been keeping something hidden from well… everyone. Or rather, two things.”  
  
“Okay, you don’t… owe me anything. I mean, don’t feel you-”  
  
“Remus, you’ll want to hear this. You.. you deserve to know.” He looked up to see that she had a steely glint in her eye that wasn’t dissimilar to a certain Professor of theirs. She took a deep breath. “Although it might.. It might be easier if I just show you?”  
  
“Okay..” he said hesitantly, feeling uncertain. He looked around for a brief moment, wondering if perhaps what she had to show him was here, at this beach in the remoteness of Ireland.  
  
“Trust me enough to get in my car?” she asks with a grin.  
  
“I’ve taken worse risks.” he shrugs, getting up and stretching slowly, his limbs still achy from last week's transformation.  
  
“It’s not far anyways.”

He follows her to the car, getting into the right side. It looks perfectly clean, but smells faintly of soil and dog hair. A smell which makes his stomach clench once more. The upholstery is a creamy beige, but with a shiny turquoise detailing which matches the outside. He is mildly impressed as Mary reverses and swings out of the car park with ease, looking just as confident as she did on a broomstick. She turns left and heads towards the road that goes along the cliff, and he cranks down his window to enjoy some more of the fresh sea air. 

It really is beautiful here. The sea is a deep and rich navy, the weak rays of the summer sunlight glint off it’s deep, tumultuous surface. He can taste the salt in the air, and as they round a corner the sea stretches out before them, seemingly endless.

Neither of them speak for a while, Remus can’t look away from the beauty that is the Atlantic ocean and it is only when they leave the ocean behind and slip in between the rocky mountain face and onto a narrow road does Mary say something.  
  
“I lied.”  
  
“Oh?” he turns to look at her. Her gaze is fixed on the road, but with no other cars in sight, he wonders if it’s merely to avoid his gaze.  
  
“Earlier I mean. When I said Harry was safe now.”  
  
“But he-”  
  
“He is safe, don’t worry,” she rolls up her window as she simultaneously turns a sharp corner, and he barely manages to keep from closing his eyes in fear. “But I lied when I said I didn’t know where he was.”  
  
“To be fair, you never explicitly said that.”  
  
“Implying it can be as bad as lying. And I don’t like it.” She looks at him as she waits to make a right turn onto a busier main road, her eyes sharp. “I’m the one who took him from those rotten muggles.”

He bursts into laughter, both in surprise and delight. She smiles at his reaction, the warmth reaching her eyes.  
  
“What’s he like?” Remus asks quietly, that being more important than the semantics of her quasi-kidnapping. The smile that blooms on her face is answer enough, but she answers anyways.  
  
“He’s wonderful. Truly. He’s taken a while to adjust, to feel.. safe. But oh Moony, he’s ever so sweet, so kind. You can already tell he’s athletic like James, and he’s definitely inherited both of his parents' cleverness.”  
  
“Really?” his heart is racing slightly. Harry had always felt like a nephew to him, like family. His guilt for not being in his life, his lingering grief over his friends, only compounds the swell of emotions he feels at the mere discussion of this child.   
  
“”Yeah, it’s so bittersweet.” her voice is taut with emotion, and for a moment neither of them speak. 

The peace of knowing Harry is ok, that he’s alright, that he’s living with someone who so clearly _loves_ him, in a similar manner to the way his own badass, wonderful parents would have is wonderful. But still, his mind had always been irritatingly inquisitive. He needs to know more. 

“Is he okay?”

“He’s getting there.” Guilt flickers across her features, and he wonders what she’s been through with him to make her have that reaction, even now. “He’s come along in leaps and bounds of course, but it hasn’t been easy at times.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Remus agreed softly. “It must have been hard, raising a child out of the blue like that.”  
  
“I suppose.” 

“I presume McGonagall knows Harry lives with you?” he asks wryly.  
  
“She does now.” Mary's smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s a bit of a long story really.”  
  
As they reach the outskirts of a little village, he can’t help but ask, doubt creeping into his voice. “Does he know anything about…”  
  
“You? Not to worry, I quickly made up for lost time and made sure he knew all about his parents, and all about the adventures of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. ”  
  
“I haven’t heard those names all put together in quite a while.” The silence between them is comforting. It feels right. Sometimes just being understood is enough. 

After fields of wheat and barley, dizzying, endless rows of golden yellow, each stalk nearly as high as himself, they drive past by a few cottages and Mary takes a turn down a bumpy looking boreen, surrounded by hedgerows on either side. 

They pulled to a stop in a small clearing between some tall sloping trees and what appeared to be a small cottage, painted in white with a small blue stable door, a cheery orange flower growing in a pot by the door. It’s like a miniature of the two storey cottage behind it.

Mary turns the engine off, and lets out a breath.  
  
“Oh, is this where you live?” It’s surprisingly sweet, almost as though it was straight from a story-book. How on earth did Mary end up living here? Last they’d spoken she’d been living the fast life in London. A stark contrast from the tranquility of the Irish countryside. 

“Yeah, that’s my studio and shop.” she points at the small building directly in front of them. She didn’t make any move to get out of the car, instead watching the building before them with an uncomfortable expression.  
  
“How’re you doing?” she asks instead, and despite the warmness in her almond shaped eyes he still feels a sense of trepidation. 

“It’s a lot to take in,” he admitted. “But ultimately, I’m glad.”  
  
“Yeah?” She looks doubtful.  
  
“Even if this whole...thing with Sirius wasn’t happening, or if Harry wasn’t here,” he pointed vaguely in the direction of her home. “I’m glad that we’re talking. I’m glad I’m here.”

“Oh. Well. Remus.. Thanks.” an emotion flitted across her face, something too complex and too fleeting for him to identify with any certainty. She reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder softly, before withdrawing and staring out the window once more. 

“Mary, is everything-”

“I need to relive the sitter.” she interrupts.  
  
“Oh.” somehow that made this all seem more real. A sitter. For Harry. Little Harry, who was living and breathing and _okay_ , and here. A whole little person.

“Can you just….” she bit her lip, her fingers thrumming an irregular beat on her steering wheel. “Could you wait here? Just for a moment. I just need a minute to-”  
  
“Take all the time you need.” he assured her. Resolute, she nodded her head, opening the door abruptly and stepping out. She moves towards her studio, before turning around sharply and lowering herself to the car window so they were eye level once more.  
  
“It won’t take long, I just need to prepare-” she cast her eyes towards the house again, before finishing awkwardly. “I just need to prepare.”

“Of course.” he replied softly, although his mind was working furiously to figure out what it was that had her so worked up. She had seemed fine only moments ago, but this unease had seemed to grow the closer they had gotten to her house. 

Remus didn’t have long to ponder though, as Mary soon reappeared, waving at him. Only her top half was visible from the partially open stable door of her studio. He quickly made his way over, and she opened the rest of the door to let him in. 

Remus held back his surprise as he stepped into the surprisingly airy room, light shining down from skylight windows, and a gentle breeze accompanying him through the door. He had a suspicion that it had been enlarged magically, as the portion he was in-which, apart from the half-finished artwork strewn about the place; contained a massive desk, several easels, a kiln, as well as a kitchenette and a comfy looking armchair by the fireplace-looked much larger than it did from the outside. They stepped through a plush turquoise curtain into what closely resembled a gallery, small red stickers adorning the backs of paintings and plates, the handles of mugs and beside vases of finely spun glass. Remus was rather impressed. 

“Wow, this is quite a setup.”  
  
“I get by.” Mary admitted, although he could hear a touch of pride in her voice. Rightfully so. She led him through the gallery, pointing out one or two works with a comment such as ‘Thats the beach we were at today,’ and ‘Recognise that lake?’ or ‘this is the forest near where I grew up’. He got the feeling she was stalling.  
  
When they got to the door, she turned to look at him, her gaze almost penetrating. He stared back solemnly, almost feeling as though she was testing him. 

“Try not to freak out.” she said abruptly.

“That’s comforting.” he says dryly. He arches an eyebrow at her, and she holds his gaze for a moment longer before swinging open the door. Remus feels almost blinded by the sudden burst of sunlight, and he throws up a hand to shield his face.

When everything clears he can see Mary a few feet away, facing him and the small and shy looking child holding her hand is so familiar it makes him start. 

It really was James in miniature-except for the eyes of course, those bright and distinct eyes-it was hard to rectify this child with the toddler he had once known. His hair is as unruly as James’ ever was and his bright red clothing is eerily reminiscent of James clad in Gryffindor colors. Remus can see a little plaster taped to his knee and his tiny shoes look slightly worn, most likely from running through the abundance of fields and forests around here.  
  
“Hello Harry.” 

“Hullo,” Harry replies, ducking his head shyly. Mary rubs his hand comfortingly. Remus stays a few feet away, Harry looks like he could spook easily and that's not what he wants at all.  
  
“Harry, this is a great friend of mine. Remus Lupin. He's been waiting a very long time to meet you.”  
  
“Me?” His surprise is obvious behind his round spectacles.  
  
“Yes.” Mary nods patiently. Remus is more than happy to let Mary take the reins on this one, he knows all too well what it's like to be a scared and traumatised child around so many adults, all of whom seemed to know you and know what you might be going through. “He knew you when you were a sweet baby, I have loads of pictures of you two, playing, at the park, eating yummy dinners and even taking naps.”  
  
“Really?” Harry darts a glance back at Remus, curiosity seeming to override his caution. “Does that mean he-” Harry cuts off, looking hesitant. 

“Yes, he knew your mam and dad too. He knew your dad even better than I did.”  
  
“Oh.” Harry looks at Remus again from the corner of his eye. Then, up at Mary with such trust that Remus feels a pang of sorrow deep in his heart.  
  
“Love, why don’t you go and get your photobook from the living room?” Mary suggests, her voice soft. “Maybe you and Remus can go through pictures together?” Her eyes flit towards Remus, quick enough to catch him nodding his assent. Remus couldn’t imagine anything more unexpected. He couldn’t imagine anything he’d rather do. 

“Really? Okay!” Harry turns and bounds off towards the house, as springy and as quick as James had always been. 

“Mary, wow, that was-” Remus takes a step towards her, overcome with gratitude, desperate to express it. “I’m so-”  
  
“I’m glad Remus, really. But there’s something else.” Mary interrupts, her face tight and drawn. Remus stills, the idea of this secret, this mystery almost as frightening as it was intriguing. He nearly expects someone like Sirius to step out of the shadows next, as though Marys earlier story to have just been a ploy-but that's most likely just his imagination running rampant again.

Mary takes a step to the right, and someone steps out from behind her. In his amazement to see Harry he hadn’t quite noticed the small hand, the corner of her shoulder.

It isn’t Sirius. But rather someone else even more shocking.

“Remus, this is Violet.” There is trepidation in Mary's voice, but Remus can’t look away from the small, dark haired girl who leans out from behind where she’s clutching at Mary's skirts. The two of them stare at each other for a moment. Remus can’t speak. He knows those features too well. The high cheekbones, the dark locks, the way she’s biting her lip.  
  
“Violet?” he repeats, dazed. Then he sees her eyes. He’s only seen eyes that particular shade of blue once before. He crouches down so he’s at eye level with the toddler, those distinct eyes watching him carefully.  
  
“Hello Violet. I guess I’m your Uncle, your Uncle Remus.”  
  
“Moony?” she queries, the name spilling from her lips with ease. She’s looking between him and her mother, who's stiff with surprise. _Her mother_. Mary. Mary McDonald was a mother. His friend Mary. His eccentric, joyful, fierce, courageous friend Mary. 

How was she able to keep this a secret? These years had certainly been harder on her. She had been raising a child, the child of her imprisoned-yet-potentially-innocent-boyfriend for the last few years.  
  
“Yeah, this is your Uncle Moony.” she recovers enough to ruffle the girls hair before winking at him, looking slightly more comfortable now that he hadn’t freaked out in some way. He wasn’t really sure what she expected of him, a screaming match, an instant disapparation away? 

His emotions have rocketed past overwhelmed, and he wouldn't have a hope of naming how he is feeling now, not even for a thousand galleons. Let alone summing up the energy to shout. And whatever would he shout at her for? 

While this does explain so much it also leaves him with so many more questions. Ones he isn’t sure how to voice quite yet. He watches Mary and her daughter for a moment as Violet starts to babble about her day, her little hands waving excitedly. This was certainly the last thing he expected when he made his journey this morning. 

The rest of the day feels surreal. He spends some time sitting in the sunny porch of Mary's house sharing a plate of biscuits, telling Harry stories about his parents, and looking through the collection of photos Mary has bound together for the little boy, her handwriting peppering the pages. Somehow talking about them in this manner, to the living, breathing child that is their legacy feels both easier and more difficult than talking about them with anyone else.

Each giggle and smile he pulls out of Harry seems to dislodge something in his chest, until saying their names feels more like a blessing than a curse. 

Mary appears once or twice, a fond smile on her face. Remus can see the relief etched upon her features and wonders what exactly she had been fearing of him. He’s only caught a few glimpses of Violet, running through the house full of laughter, a dog hot on her heels, or talking non stop with her mother. He still can’t quite fathom the girl’s existence. 

He finds himself sitting in the garden with Mary by the late afternoon, the sound of little feet and giggles never far away. She’s propped up on her elbows, her eyes closed and her face tilted towards the sun.  
  
“You certainly know how to surprise someone.” he comments mildly.  
  
“Go big or go home.” she shrugs as though nonchalant but he can hear the apprehension still lurking in her voice.  
  
“It’s amazing Mary.” he says softly. She cracks open an eye, looking at him carefully. “All this.” he looks around, from the airy and welcoming house, to the blooming and almost overwhelming garden, it truly is like a whole other world. Like a little bubble, to keep them safe.  
  
“I just hope it’s enough.”  
  
“They seem wonderful.” Remus adds. “Bright and happy. That's what matters, isn’t it?”  
  
“I don’t know Remus,” she leans forward, her expression serious. She pulls up a few shards of grass as she speaks, her body tight with tension. “How well can two children, one of whom is dealing with some serious trauma, turn out with a single mother? It's only going to get harder as they get older.”

“You know, I don’t think that matters sometimes. One or two parents, even three in some cases, as long as you love them and do your best by them, I think that's all that really matters at the end of the day.” 

“I just hope you’re right.”  
  
“Speaking of,” he begins tentatively. “Not that I’m a Pureblood expert or anything, but how come you don’t have any Blacks popping in here, breaking down your door trying to get their heir? I do recall how possessive they were about Sirius and Regulus.”

If she freezes at the mention of Sirius' name they both ignore it.

“Taken care of.” When he gives her a questioning look, she tacks on, “Let’s just say it's on a need to know basis.”  
  
“And I’m not need to know?”  
  
“We’ll see.” A faux posh tone colouring her voice. When he gives her an exasperated look she makes a silly face in response. He isn’t really bothered about not being privy to the innermost workings of her carefully balanced life. It's not like he has any right to know, or that it's really any of his business.

As loathe as he is to bring it up, his own feelings still rather conflicted, he can’t help but take this child free moment to ask Mary:

“What will you do if.. You know, Sirius does turn out to be innocent? I mean, I presume… he’ll stay here.” he can tell by the uncomfortable expression on her face that she's been wondering this herself.

“First things first,” she replies, her voice rather business-like. “Finding out if he is innocent-presumably he has some sort of.. Alibi, or I dunno, explanation-then, _if_ that is the case, assisting him with some sort of defence. It’s going to take a load of work, Minnie has already been asking me what day I want to go down to the Ministry Archives, and I just don’t know how I’m going to manage it all.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well thankfully this house is already mine, but keeping two kids-who don’t seem to stop growing every other week-fed, clothed and entertained takes a lot of work. It’s really just me and them, so I can’t really take on any formal employment, so I’m quite reliant on my artwork for us to get by. I have a rake of commissions lined up. But finding the time to get it done just seems..” she trails off, her face scrunched up with anxiety.  
  
“I can help.” Remus offers, surprising himself. He doesn’t jump in to take it back though, and the thought of it sounds almost equally wonderful and terrifying.  
  
“What?” Mary sits up straight in surprise. She looks at him almost warily, as though doubting his offer. Or perhaps his intentions.  
  
“Yeah, I’m only able to hold down a part time job at the moment due to-” they both know what he is referring to, so he hurriedly continues. “So I’d be free a few days a week. If that helped I mean.”  
  
There’s a long silence. Broken suddenly by Mary launching herself across the grass to embrace him tightly. He’s so stunned by it, the intimacy of human contact that he stills, barely hugging her back before she pulls away.  
  
“I-do you mean that Remus?” she sounds almost too afraid to ask, as though he’ll change his mind at the first opportunity. “Please don’t feel at all obligated. I wasn’t hinting at anything like that, honestly. So I don’t want you to think-”  
  
“Mary,” he interrupts firmly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I would like to help you. I wish I’d been more help to you before. I can’t imagine what its been like doing all of this alone. Besides I would like to get to know them both, Harry and Violet.”

“Yeah?” Before now shy wouldn’t have been a word he’d ever use to describe Mary MacDonald. 

“Yeah, I want to. I want to be a part of their lives, of yours. If you’ll have me of course.”

He feels like he’s abruptly taken a plunge. Getting involved with other people. Involving his emotions, his feelings. It always runs a risk of getting hurt. Look what happened last time. 

Look at today, probably the most emotionally wrought and dramatic day he’s experienced in a long time. He never would have thought today would turn out like this, its slightly overwhelming.

A small part of him wants to pretend it never happened. To pretend that none of this concerns him. To go back to his humdrum life, getting by and living a lonely-but safe-existence. Surviving. But barely. At least that way he has no chance of getting hurt once more. 

This is a whole other world. A whole other messy, complicated world. But looking at the warmth on Mary's face, the joyous wonder of these two miraculous, happy children, and the happy little world they’ve created sparks something in him he had feared may have been dormant. Hope. 

As he looks around the house, its happy residents, he feels a renewed sense of purpose for the first time in almost five years. No matter what happens with Sirius he needs to be here for one of the few people who always treated him with the utmost kindness. He needs to be here for her. For the son of his truest and most beloved friends. He owes them that, at the very least. 

He owes it to Harry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Marauder down. Let me know if you what you thought with a Kudos or review! :)


	3. Let the Light In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By all accounts he should be completely out of his mind by now. Maybe it'd be easier if he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to everyone who has interacted with this story! Heres hoping you like this installment!

_June 28th,_ _  
_ _Azkaban Prison, the North Sea_

Brown eyes. 

Laughing, loving, beautiful brown eyes. Smiling up at him below the branches of a sunlit tree. Warm gazes from across the room. Winks behind a professor's back during glass. Glinting with the rage of a lioness. Closing shut as she kisses him gently, fiercely. Brown eyes looking straight at him as they began to swim with- 

Wait no, no, something is wrong. The beautiful eyes are filled with tears, with pain now. Voices and figures and places whiz past him as she mouths a name to him. Tears streaming down her face, clutching her bleeding and bandaged arm-  
  
Eyes filled with terror. Mouthing a name, _his name_ -he hasn’t heard it in so long, he scarcely recognises it. He can’t reach her, he can’t take away the pain. He didn’t get there in time-   
  
The eyes change shape and size, a lighter hue. Glassy, reflecting the ruins of the floor above. Showing the eternal sky and sickly glow of the green light. Eyes that will never see again, never laugh again. The eyes of a boy. Too young to die. Too brave, too _trusting_ , too reckless. The anguish blooms in his chest. He can’t breathe. He was too late. Why was he too late? Why was he always too late-?

The pain, the guilt and the all encompassing regret crashes into him, and Sirius wakes with a start, panting; the echo of the waves of the wild sea getting louder as he slowly comes to his full senses. He can almost taste the dampness in his mouth as he sits up on the threadbare board that serves as a pathetic excuse for a mattress and faces the small window in the corner of the room. The faint light reflected on the floor tells him that it’s early in the morning. He doesn’t need to look out of his cell to see the Dementor lurking there. 

Always lurking there.   
  
His face feels wet, and he realises he was crying in his sleep. He wonders if he cried out at any point. Not that it would make any difference here. At times it’s hard to hear anything but the crying, the roaring and screaming, the last grip on sanity fleeing so many who wither and rot here.   
  
Sometimes Sirius is surprised he can still process rational thought after this much exposure, but he’s not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. Maybe if he was as mad as some of the others it wouldn’t hurt as much. He must’ve dropped off to sleep when the Dementors had been distracted by Dolohov’s outburst earlier. He rarely fell asleep in human form as it left his mind more vulnerable to their attack. It lets them have access to some of the only good memories he can salvage in his wreck of a brain.   
  
He had been dreaming of Mary. He rarely let himself think of her too long. It hurt too much to think of the possibilities. Did she, like Remus must, think he was guilty? She probably did. It still felt like a stab to the chest when he considered how she, along with the rest of the world thought _he_ was the reason James was dead. That he was the reason his true brother, the one person who had done more for him than any other-was forever gone from this world.   
  
It didn’t matter anyways. It was his fault. He had trusted the _rat_. He almost felt like his hackles were at the mere thought of the man he had once considered a friend, a brother. The man who had destroyed all of their lives. 

The man who had tried to kill Harry.   
  
Harry.   
  
He felt the Dementor drift even closer, as though the mere thought of Harry-that beautiful little boy- had drawn them to him. He shook his head, almost like a dog shaking water off himself, to try and drive Harry out of his thoughts.   
  
He wouldn’t let them have any access to his memories of his wonderful little Godson; the only trace of James and Lily left in the world. He had kept them from ruining what few memories he had left of him so far, and he wasn’t about to change that.   
  
It had been over four years at this point. Harry would be six this year. _Six_ . Probably already attending school. He wondered who he had been taking care of him. He presumed it was Mary but was worried that some official would find a arbitrary reason to place him with someone completely unsuitable. That would make all of this even worse. As long as Harry was safe, then he could bear this.   
  
The dark thoughts start to crowd his mind again, and in an attempt to distract himself he starts running what he can remember of his sixth year Transfiguration textbook in his head. It’s not exactly a happy thought but it’s not a negative one either. They can’t take it away. When he was seventeen he’d complained endlessly about having to continue his studies when he already felt as though he had mastered the art of Transfiguration through his arduous journey to become an Animagus.

Who would’ve known that his old textbooks would be the closest thing to a bright spark in his day? Any thought of Mary or Harry only made him feel worse afterwards, full of guilt and despair-even on the rare chance it hadn’t drawn the dementors to him. 

He kills a few hours by going through his daily exercise routine-while his body may be thin and malnourished from the lack of adequate food and healthcare he’ll be damned if he lets them ruin it completely-and he’s just started to settle down on the floor when he notices the ever present fog clear from his brain slightly. He’s too busy savouring the moment, the unexpected taste of peace, to notice a noise outside his cell.   
  
“Sirius?” He could almost have sworn that he heard his own name. It almost sounded pleasant on someone else’s voice. He hasn’t heard it in so many years. Now it’s just _Black, Black, Black_ when it isn’t his prison number. The surname he could never truly run away from. He stares at his ceiling as a shaking noise echoes. Presuming it to be one of the prisoners on either side of him, he ignores it, focusing on the cracks in the ceiling. _One, two, three, four_ \-   
  
“Sirius Black?” he hears it again, but sharper. Is he finally losing his mind? He focuses for a moment to see if it happens again. For once he can properly hear the shouting, the crying, the taunting and wailing that echoes from inside the building and envelops it. The sound contrasts with the boom, blast, and ruin of the waves against the rock outside. 

“Sirius, can you hear me?”  
  
He straightens up so quick he almost whacks his head off the stone behind him. He looks outside his cell to see someone standing there. Not a dementor, not a surly prison guard reluctantly providing him with the legally mandated warm water to clean himself with. It’s a few weeks too early for the annual inspection. So it must be someone else.   
  
To see _him_. 

Sirius has never had a visitor. He doesn’t know if those he had been close to in his previous life have ever even attempted to visit him. He doesn’t know if they’d be allowed. He’s rarely seen a visitor enter Azkaban. Only a handful of times did he see weary, pale wives and the reluctant, shamed parents arrive to visit the lower security prisoners when his cell was on the other side of the building. 

Be that as it may, he now seemed to have a visitor. He cautiously makes his way towards the cell door, recognising the thick tartan coat before anything else. That shaking sound from earlier seems to be her pale, bony hands clenched around the bars, rattling them in an attempt to get his attention. He lifts his gaze away from her hands and meets her eyes. 

They contain more kindness than he expected, more than he knows what to do with. She snaps her jaw shut as he approaches, and she now looks as wary as he feels. His long, thin, pale fingers clasp the iron bars above her own, and for what feels like an eternity, they stare at each other.   
  
Having someone look at him without hate, or scorn in their eyes is so rare he feels humbled. For it to be someone he once knew, someone he once saw as a sort of maternal figure, is enough to make him feel overwhelmed. He feels slightly dizzy at this unexpected event and holds on tightly to the bars to stable himself. Something she does not, with her beady stare, happen to miss.   
  
“What are you doing here Min?” he croaks, the old nickname slipping out before he’s had the chance to think about it, much less second guess it. His voice sounds so hoarse it frightens the two of them for a moment. He can’t remember the last time he spoke out loud to another human being, let alone someone who seemed to want to actually talk to him. 

“Oh Sirius, you remember me.” she sounds relieved, as though she’d thought he wouldn’t. Did she think that Azkaban would have succeeded in doing what the Black genes had tried so furiously to do-and render him completely certifiably insane?

“Yeah, course.” he coughs twice in an attempt to clear his throat, before appraising her with a raised eyebrow. Why has she come to visit him? Why now?  
  
“Of course,” she repeats, a slight touch of mirth in her voice that surprises him. She’s warmer than he would have expected. At this point he’s presumed that she, like all the rest, believed he was guilty. “Oh Sirius, I’m so sorry.”   
  
“For what?”   
  
“For never... “ she pauses, almost as though she is too emotional to continue, before taking a deep breath and beginning again. “For never coming to see you after James and Lily-”   
  
It hurts too much to hear their names, especially with that much affection in her voice. He raises a trembling hand in a silent plea for her to stop, and thankfully she acquises. He keeps his line of sight focused on the iron bars between them as the silence lingers.   
  
“Sirius…” she tries again. “I don’t have much time.” When he finally looks up, Minerva’s face is etched with guilt, and he feels more confused than ever.   
  
“What’s going on?” 

“I need to ask you two questions. Two questions I should have asked you years ago, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”  
  
“Okay.” he agrees readily.   
  
“Did you sell out Lily and James?”   
  
“No!” the word is through his lips before he’s even thought about his response. “It doesn’t mean it isn’t my fault that they- that he-.” he falters. “It’s still my fault they’re dead. But no! No, I would never do that. I would never knowingly betray James in any way. You know that.” his tone is biting, with more energy than he’s had in years, like someone has just turned on a light. 

“How is it your fault?” she asks sharply. He hesitates, meeting her gaze. He feels so helpless once more. This is what he’s been waiting, wishing and practically praying for over four years now, and when the time comes he clams up like a stuttering school boy.   
  
“I told them to put their trust in the wrong person.” he manages eventually, his voice more choked up than he would like. He feels so overwrought with emotion that it’s hard to process his own thoughts, let alone speak. The Dementors must have receded significantly for McGonagall to visit, and the sudden distance from them has caused his own emotions to surface completely and hit him full whack. It turns out he wouldn’t have any issues feeling guilty and depressed without them. 

There's a short pause, her sharp eyes appraising him so intensely until suddenly; with a much softer tone, almost trembling with emotion.   
  
“That brings me to my second question.”   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“On October 31st, 1981, were you the secret keeper?”   
  
“No.” 

When he responds her eyes light up in a fashion similar to delight. Had she been expecting him to say that? Why was she asking these questions, why now? Before he can ask though, she moves her hands to firmly clasp with his own. The shock of human contact, the softness of skin, makes him jump a little and she smiles affectionately through the tears forming in her eyes.   
  
“Sirius, I am so deeply regretful no one came to speak with you sooner. I don’t have enough words to express that. But I don’t have too much time and I need to tell you, you’re getting a trial.”   
  
A trial? He had never received a trial. He had waited for weeks, for months, before he realised that most likely, he had already been sentenced in absentia. Life in Azkaban. He was lucky it hadn’t been the Dementors kiss. Why was he getting one now? His expression must have conveyed his confusion, as she hurried to explain herself.   
  
“It’s a long story. But it wouldn’t be happening without your Mary; a real fighter you have there-” he freezes at the sound of her name, tossed into conversation so casually, but McGonagall plows on. “She convinced me to look into it, and I was able to bring it to the attention of Professor Dumbledore and Auror Shacklebolt.”

“I-I-what?” Sirius is so confused by the sudden turn of events as well as her sudden increase in information that he has trouble processing what she’s saying. A trial? Mary? _Mary was fighting for him?_   
  
“You’re getting a trial.” she presses. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get one before. To be frank with you I’m downright furious.” As ever, her Scottish accent is stronger when she’s angry. “But you’re getting one now. It’ll be in three days. Tuesday the 1st of July.”   
  
“What? A real trial?” he queries, holding onto the bars tightly. He suddenly feels hyper aware of his dirty and dishevelled appearance. Thankfully McGonagall would never look at him with anything as condescending as pity. “Minnie, you believe me?”   
  
“Yes Sirius,” she almost snaps, before glancing at her watch once more. “Please, do your best to get them to listen to the truth, whatever those specifics may be. We’ll be there, rooting for you.” she clasps hands with him, briefly, tightly, one more time as the guard appears behind her shoulder. He barely manages to choke out a ‘Thank you’ before she is whisked away.   
  
A _trial_ . This means that he will actually be leaving Azkaban for at least a few hours. He has a chance to prove his innocence. A chance to be free. As he lies back down all he can think for the next few hours.   
  
_They believe me._ _  
_ _  
_ _They believe me._   
_  
_ They believe me. 

And no matter how close the dementors linger, they aren’t able to take that away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter than usual, but I should have another chapter for you in just a few days! Let me know what you thought below!


	4. Storm Amongst the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary struggles with her confidence as a single mother-as well as her ability to ask for help. Harry learns how it feels to be loved. And they all face their darkest memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I meant to post this over a week ago. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter and it took an annoyingly long time to edit. I nearly considered skipping it altogether.. but I figured it would be good to have Mary's perspective!
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who has interacted with this story. It's consumed a large part of my life over the summer, and every response I get just makes my heart sing. Hope you enjoy this next installment! The next one should be up within a week this time.

_Saturday June 28th, 1986_

Mary had barely finished painstakingly painting the irritatingly delicate little flower on the handle of the mug when a loud crashing sound at the door made her jump. She dropped the mug in fright and barely managed to catch it just before it hit the floor. It’s the third time this hour; her nerves are shot and her patience is wearing dangerously thin.  
  
“Right, that’s it!” After carefully hanging the mug on the drying rack Mary marches over to the door. She swings it open to see the remains of a pot plant scattered all over the doorstep, roots and leaves intermingled with the soil and ceramic shards. There’s scattered patches of soil all over the yard, as well as a random array of objects: a frying pan, the cats water bowl, nearly all of Violet’s toys, as well as a rather large pair of ugly woolen socks. 

“VIOLET TYRELL!” Both Violet and Harry jump in surprise, both at her voice and sudden appearance. Violet nearly falls off her training broom, barely managing to catch herself in time. Any other time Mary would have been mildly impressed by her daughters seemingly inherited flying skills, but not today.  
  
“Mammy!” she greets, a deceptively innocent smile on her face. Harry beams as well, but the guilt is more evident in his eyes. He furtively glanced around him as he hovers almost five feet above the ground.  
  
“Don’t ‘mammy’ me,” Mary snaps, watching the two kids exchange wary looks. “What is the meaning of this mess?”  
  
“Oh, we’re playing a game called Jarveys and Dragons! It’s so much fun. We made it up all by ourselves, and we collect-”  
  
“Violet I’m glad you’re having fun, but I have told you time and time again, I need to finish that project today! You know that. I can’t keep working if you lot keep exploding things every ten minutes!”  
  
She had tried her hardest to keep her tone even, but it had been a wasted effort when her temper had gotten the better of her by the end of the sentence anyways. Harry looks chagrined but Violet looks annoyed. She dismounts, practically throwing her broomstick to the ground. Mary opens her mouth to reprimand her, only for Violet to get there first.  
  
“It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not my fault you have to work all the time!” she bursts, her little face screwed up with emotion. 

Vi is practically trembling with anger, and she even punctuates her sentence with a stomp of her foot. She has such a furious expression for a four year old. It almost makes Mary want to laugh at the sheer wonder that this little child she carried and raised is old enough to feel emotions with such passion. To express them so strongly. She knows her daughter well though, and her pride would not withstand such a reaction. Instead she bends down so they are eye level, holding in her anger and focusing on getting through to her. 

“Violet, I know you’re upset, I understand.”  
  
“No you don’t! Mam, I-”  
  
“Violet, I do. I mean it. I don’t want to upset you. But you know my work is important. It’s the reason we can afford to buy these broomsticks; to clothe us and feed us, as well as Madra and all the cats and to buy all your toys.” she fixes her daughter with a serious expression, refusing to drop her gaze. 

Violet falters, and Mary feels a flicker of guilt for being so serious with her daughter, for potentially damaging the naivety of her youth, her innocence; but she needs to make sure she understands. Most likely, their lives will always be this way, a delicately balanced act of working and living, prospering and struggling. It’s the harsh reality of being a single mother. The harsh reality of their lives.

“I may need to take a few days off this week, so I need to work harder than ever to get everything finished.” Unbidden, Sirius' face comes to her mind once more. He seems to loom larger in her mind this last week than he ever has before, from any passing thought, around any corner. He’d be easier to avoid if he was actually here. 

“Yes, but-but-we don’t have to be quiet if Uncle Remus is here! He could mind us! He could floo here and play with us!”  
  
Harry's face had brightened at the mention of Remus’ name, something Mary would be sure to try and tell Remus later. It had been nearly a week since she had reintroduced the two, and told someone from her old life about Violet, about all that she had hidden and protected for so long. It felt like it had been far longer than that. 

Remus had been back a few times already, and had even managed to take care of both of the children unassisted while she had met with Professor McGonagall at the Ministry one day. They’d spent hours combing through the reports and articles from Sirius’ arrest to see if there was anything that would help them-him.

She had to keep reminding herself to do that. To separate the two of them in her mind. Just because she was his-what was she to him? Was she still his girlfriend after all this time? It felt like too juvenile a word to describe what she and Sirius were to each other, and yet premature to _presume_ he would still feel the same way about her. She doubted they were going to pick up right where they left off. Even if they shared a child (and a godchild). For all she knew he could be angry, furious even. 

_(You should have done more, you could have helped him-)_

“Mammy!” Violet interrupts her inner monologue of self-loathing by tugging on her sleeve. Once she's satisfied she's gotten her mother's attention she clasps her two hands together as though she's praying and says, “Please, please, please, please please!”  
  
“Could Uncle Remus come over?” Harry pipes up more earnestly and hopeful than Violet could ever manage to be. 

“Oh guys, I don’t know, he might be working today. He was here just two days ago, and-”  
  
“He said he would come back when the weekend was on!” Violet interjected, then her gaze darts towards Harry, doubt creeping into her expression. “It is-it is the weekend now?”

“Yes,” he assured her with a bright smile. “Saturday and Sundays are the weekend.”  
  
“Yeah!” Violet turns around again, all doubt forgotten and looking triumphant. “He promised!”

“I’m sure he did love-”

“He promised!” 

“Violet, it's not nice to keep interrupting people.” She lifts her eyebrows at Violet until she is wearing a suitably abashed expression. Mary sometimes wonders if she may be fighting a losing battle trying to instil some manners in her daughter. Violet always seemed to act first, think later.  
  
“Sorry,” she says hurriedly, sounding anything but. “But Mammy, he promised! You said never to break promises!”

Shoot. She certainly had her there. She knew it too if her satisfied little smirk was anything to go by. Mary had always instilled in her the importance of being true to your word. Honesty always had been something she valued so highly. However Mary couldn’t let her know that she was going to give in this easily, otherwise she’d never be able to convince Violet to do anything ever again.  
  
“I will ask him, _if_ -” she raises her voice to be heard over the children's cheers. “If you two clean away most of this mess and manage to play _quietly_ for at least ten minutes. Only if you can do that will I Floo Uncle Remus and ask him.”

You’d have thought she had promised them an early Christmas based on their jubilant reactions. She’d barely waved her wand at the broken flowerpot, its contents and fragments zooming back together when the two of them were stumbling towards the main house, their odd assortment of pilfered items clutched between their arms. Mary bit her lip to keep from smiling. 

They reappeared with coloring pencils and reams of paper, their hushed whispers and giggles floating across the yard. Mary started to feel guilty for snapping at them earlier. They were only children after all-even if Violet was more stubborn than both of her parents combined (and if possible, more confident too). It wasn’t their fault they were all in this situation. They both should have had proper homes, with two parents. And anyways, after Tuesday they might have-  
  
She turns off the train of thought immediately. Thinking like that isn’t helpful. It isn’t going to do anyone any favours if she gets her hopes up, especially after all this time. Dreaming had not served her well before, and it would not now. Instead she buries her feelings of guilt into giving the kids a small plate of biscuits to tide them over while they set to work drawing. 

By the time Remus arrives, a bright smile on his face and a fine layer of ash coating his moss green cardigan, they've actually managed to keep their focus for nearly thirty minutes. He set off with them to the adjoining field to play and it was only hours later; after a surprisingly productive session in her studio and a somewhat late lunch, that they set up the kids artwork inside the gallery section. 

Remus makes a wonderful audience for their impromptu gallery show, oohing and ahhing in all the right places and soon their round little faces are shining with joy. Even Harry, who rarely likes to be the centre of attention seems especially proud of his drawing of their owl Talia, who had been a surprisingly willing subject. The bird rarely warmed to anybody, but Mary’s ancient owl seemed to have something of a soft spot for Harry. Mary had often seen the little bird land on Harry’s shoulder out of the blue, sometimes just pausing to give him an affectionate nip on the ear, but occasionally she had spotted Harry walking around the garden with the owl. 

“And this is the day we went to the beach, and we played sandcastles, and we had that ice cream even though it was cold and-” Violet kept babbling as she explained her pictures to Remus, whose soft and encouraging replies only served to buoy her confidence even further. 

It was nice to watch them together. Remus was exactly who she’d always wanted to be Violet’s godfather. Having grown up with a shoddy excuse for a father figure herself, Mary had always wanted any children of hers to grow up with a positive male figure in their lives. Quietly confident, witty, and sharp as a tack, Remus was exactly that. He could teach Violet (and Harry of course) many things, magical and otherwise. 

The image of Sirius, doting on Harry with pure love and adoration burst to the front of her mind, and the searing pain was more than she could bear. 

How could she ever doubt him? Why didn’t she try harder-

Drowning in her own guilt and incriminating thoughts, and assured the children were safe and happy under Remus’ care, Mary longs for the solitude of nature and quietly escapes out to the garden. She slips off her shoes, padding through the wild lawn between the house and the stream.

It’s so peaceful here, only a small breeze rustling the trees to make her feel less alone. She walks until the voices of her loved ones fade away, her twisted thoughts leave her mind and all she’s left with is the sound of her own beating heart and the soft rustle of grass and the leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. 

Mary is sitting under a large frond tree, their cat Miko snoozing at her feet when Harry appears. The expression on his face tells her that he’s been looking for her. He’s more hesitant than he was earlier, deep in thought with a furrowed brow. At Mary’s wave he quietly settles in next to her, only to be affectionately greeted by the cat before they can even exchange hellos. 

Several minutes pass, Harrys hands stroking Mikos fur and Mary was nearly certain he wasn’t going to say anything at all when he blurts:

“Do you like to work?”  
  
Slightly confused by his question (and suspecting this isn’t what he’s really asking) Mary answers. “Yeah, most of the time. I like all the things I make and I like that sometimes they make people happy because they remind them of the ocean, or of Kerry. I like that I can afford to take care of us all and still have fun. Sometimes I wish I had more time to spend with you lot though.” she ruffles Harry's hair but he barely seems to notice, only looking more confused. 

“Mary?” he chews his lip, looking up at her earnestly. “Maybe I can get really good, and do more drawings, and then i can help! And then you won't be so unhappy! Then you won’t have to work so much!”

“ _Oh_ , no. Harry love, of course I’m not unhappy. Not in the slightest.” Mary replied, aghast. “And that's not your job to worry about. We'll be just fine. We always are.” 

"But it is!” he insists, her words doing little to comfort him. His expression is so anxious that his glasses slip a little down his nose. “I want to..stay. Here! I don’t want to be a burden. I won’t be!”  
  
“A burden? Mary repeated, a pit of dread forming rapidly in her stomach. “Oh Harry, of course you’re not a burden. Anything but. Why on earth would you think that?”

The long pause is deafening in its answer. 

“They, they… said I was a burden, and tha-that I had to earn my keep, and-” Harry gulps nervously. 

_They_. That was always how Harry referred to his rotten relatives (for lack of a better term). He had grown out of calling them aunt and uncle fairly quickly, and instead on the rare occasions he did speak of them it was always with a ripple of fear in his voice. An undercurrent of doubt that just didn’t seem to go away. 

Unrelenting, neverending love and kindness worked, but inch by painstaking inch. 

“Harry..” Mary isn’t sure how to fix this. Simple words weren’t going to fix a fear so deeply rooted. For the umpteenth time Mary is furious at these people for even existing, for damaging this sweet and wonderful little child. This boy she loved so fiercely he might as well be her own. 

“I don’t want to be sent away!” he blurts, then clasps a hand over his own mouth as though expecting to get scolded for speaking. 

“Harry,” she repeats, with a firmness that causes him to look at her with apprehension. “You are not, and could never be a burden.”

She holds his gaze for a long moment, refusing to look away, refusing to let him see even a flicker of doubt in her words or tone. Eventually he breaks their eye contact, looking down at his little shoes. He drags his shoe through the soil, and the little sign of anxiety makes her heart sink. 

Mary scoots closer to Harry, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close to her. He relaxes into her embrace, his little arms wrapping around her waist. Harry looks up at her a moment later, his face so achingly vulnerable. When she speaks again she keeps her voice firm and steady, wanting Harry to feel as assured as possible.  
  
“Harry, if I had to sell every single piece of clothing, every inch of this land, every plant in this garden,” (at this, his eyes widen adorably behind his round glasses). “I would do all of that before I would ever, in a million years, get rid of you.”  
  
“A million?” he repeats.  
  
“I would do anything.” she vows. “Harry, you’re so important to me. You’re a big part of my life, of why we moved here. I would never want you to go away, and I would never let anyone take you away either. Do you understand?”  
  
He looks so uncertain that for once she sees nothing of his parents (so fierce, so confident, so loving) in him, and her heart sinks a little further. 

“I think so.”

That wasn't good enough.  
  
“Harry, do you know what a pinky promise is?” she lifts her eyebrows at him. He looks up at her with curiosity. 

“I know what a pinky is,” he says slowly. “And what a promise is. Can it be both?”  
  
“Exactly,” Mary praises. “Good job. Its a combination of the two. All promises are important, but a pinky promise is one that is bigger than any other.”  
  
“Okay..” 

“So,” Mary rolls her shoulders back, pulling away from Harry so she can proffer the appendage to him. At her nudging he hooks his pinky with hers, looking slightly apprehensive.

“I, Mary Eleanor Tyrrell do promise that I will love Harry James Potter for at least one million years. I will care for him, feed him, teach him how to play Quidditch, sometimes scold him if he’s been really naughty. But I will always want him to be a part of my life.” 

She half expected him to giggle, but his little face was solemn. He stared at her for a moment, and when Mary looked deep into his green eyes she didn’t just see a mixture of her two beloved, departed friends, but she saw _Harry_. Harry, who was sweet and impossibly kind. Who seemed to find solace with the nature here, who she had seen growing and healing and thriving. Little Harry who was so funny with his own clever comments and dry sense of humour. 

As soon as she separates her hand from his he wraps his little arms back around her, burrowing into her embrace and Mary feels her throat narrow dangerously. She runs her hand through his hair gently, and he hugs her so tightly its almost uncomfortable.  
  
“You know, I remember the first time I ever met you.” Harry doesn’t respond, but he’s still enough so she knows he’s listening, so she continues. “You were this tiny little thing, with loads of black hair-messy, just like now-and your mum and dad were so happy, I thought they would hurt their faces from smiling. I was one of the first people to hold you, and as soon as I saw your little face I knew I would always love you. No matter what happened.”  
  
“I love you too.” Harry murmurs, and Mary has to blink rapidly at the tears that threaten to fall. 

They sit there for what feels like an endless moment, blanketed by the lush greenery and warmed by the summer sun. It’s been an unusually warm summer, and it's practically made the garden double in size. A few tourists have seemed almost overwhelmed by the sheer size and opulence of it. Mary on the other hand feels comforted by the grandiosity of it, as though the towering trees and blooming flowers can protect them from the rest of the world. She has a feeling that Harry feels the same way. They spent most of their time in the countryside, occasionally foraying into the nearby villages. They’d only been into one of the bigger towns once, around Christmas, and with the rush of the crowd and busy streets he had reverted back to being jumpy, anxious. It had made her heart ache. Here, he seemed to feel safe. And that was all she had ever wanted. 

It’s only when Violet comes out giggling, swinging off Remus’ hand does Harry get up and bound over to her, an extra spring in his step that doesn’t escape Remus’ eye. As the two go off in search of the dog, Remus settles in next to her, his joints cracking and popping as he stretches.  
  
“Did we interrupt?”  
  
“No, no, everythings sorted now.” Mary dismissed, unsure if she wants to say anything more. Remus doesn’t immediately respond, instead sitting quietly beside her. Reassuring. Steady. Which emboldens her to continue. “Earlier I was stressed and I made the mistake of mentioning that I need to work so we can afford everything, and Harry.. He was worried he was a burden. Worried that if times got too tough, I would send him away.”

“Oh.” his voice sounds as soft as the tinkle of breaking glass. Then without any preamble, “Families really fuck you up, don’t they?”  
  
“I wouldn’t even dignify them with such a term.” Mary's voice is caustic. “Oh Remus, it just was so.. heartbreaking.”  
  
“But you made it better.”  
  
“I mean, I tried my best-”  
  
“Give yourself more credit than that,” Remus expression brokers no argument. “You’re wonderful with Harry. You’re exactly what he needed.”  
  
“I don’t know about that.” her own self doubt is choking sometimes in its strength. Mary can feel Remus’ penetrating gaze on her, but she doesn’t want to elaborate. She doesn’t want to dwell on the difficult moments, the anguish and the difficulty of raising stubborn (but wonderful) children. She’d rather focus on the bittersweetness of that moment with Harry, of his ability to show affection. 

“You did more than I did.”

A glance at Remus reminds her that she’s not the only one who has a conflicted sense of self worth. Remus-who looks thin and worn beyond his 25 years-who must have been on such a rollercoaster of emotions this week. She wonders how much of that is Lycanthropy, and how much is grief and loneliness. Sometimes it seems like when he looks in the mirror that's all he sees. The mistakes, the sorrow, his ‘affliction’. He doesn’t see what she does, what all of their friends did; his compassion, his clever sense of humour, innate sense of _decency_ , his ability to make one feel heard.

“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He smiles, the warmth reaching his eyes. It surprised her sometimes that little sentences like that could transform someone's face. It even made her feel a little better about her own worries. His smile got even brighter as the two kids rushed back in, their excited voices overlapping.  
  
“Please, can we-”

“-the ocean? I want to look for-"  
  
“Mammy we could-”  
  
“Hang, hang on”- she interrupts them softly, holding a hand up. “One at a time please, I can’t hear you.”  
  
The two children turn to exchange looks with each other, silent communication passing between them. Harry nods, and Violet turns back to them.  
  
“Mammy, Uncle Moony, can we please go to the seaside?”  
  
With her beaming smile and light eyes as bright as ever even if Vi hadn’t managed to be remarkably polite there wasn’t any reason Mary would’ve considered refusing her. The rush of the ocean and the broad open skies would probably do them all some good.  
  
“Of course we can.” she smiles, then turning to Remus. “You up for it?”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
Despite all her fears earlier that day, her worries and her guilt, the warm and happy atmosphere lasts well into the evening. Laughing and chatting merrily, they traipse up and down the sandy shore, the salty smell of the sea accompanied by wind whipping against their faces and hair. After a rather impressive sandcastle competition (where Harry and Violet come up with a surprisingly detailed impression of a castle) and a wander through the billowing dunes, they settle in to eat fish and chips from the restaurant right on the beach, the childrens ‘treasures’ spread out at their feet. Handfuls of bright seaglass, sticks of bleached driftwood, oddly shaped shells and smooth stones. They stay until the sun sets, watching the pinks and reds spread and merge across the horizon and the first of the stars start to appear, their brightness mesmerising against the black-blue sky.

It takes a while to bundle Harry and Violet into the car. They both insist they aren’t tired, but within moments of being strapped in they both succumb to sleep, their dark heads bowed together.  
  
“Thank you for this.” Remus says, sincerity laced through his words, as they speed through the mountains and into the darkness. A journey so similar and yet so different from the one they set out on last week.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For reminding me how this feels-to be a part of something. To be.. Happy.”  
  
It’s only later, when the kids are safely tucked into bed and she shows a tired Remus into the spare room that she is reminded of the upcoming trial and the darkness that looms over all of them. Both of their eyes sweep across the room, but neither mention the trunk tucked in the corner. Locked and long untouched, a cloak of dust guarding its secrets and the faint scratching of initials.

*~*  
  
In her dreams she is flying. Darting and diving through the clouds, the broom between her hands thrumming with energy. She heads down, down towards the goal posts. Here the grass looks green, the pitch blanketed by rolling hills and crisp lakes of silver blue. Then in the blink of an eye;

A flicker of red. 

The sun glinting off a pair of glasses. 

A flash of green. 

Everything spins and Mary loses her grip, she’s caught in the wind, at its mercy and under its power. She tries to regain control, but everything feels so lost. Deep, dark and deathlike. 

Below her is Sirius. He's standing on the ground, anchored. He is laughing. He’s crying. He’s so far away from her. 

The distance only grows. 

He’s a storm amongst the stars.

Mary wakes with a start, drenched in sweat and shaking. She looks around her room, lit softly by moonlight; but as always she is alone, with nothing for company but her fears and her solitude. 

*~*

By the time the sun's morning rays have crept through the windows and are shining over half the room Mary knows there's no point attempting to sleep any longer. She throws back the duvet, sliding out of bed and stepping into the adjoining bathroom. 

A haggard looking woman stares back at her in the mirror. Dark shadows below her eyes, hair messy from her constant tossing and turning, her youthful skin now sickly pale. What a miserable sight to behold. 

She’s nearly dressed when there's a tentative knock on her door. No child here would ever dream of knocking, they’d already have barged in with their requests or complaints. She already knows who it must be when she pulls a comforting lilac jumper over her head and calls out, “Come in!” 

As expected, Remus appears as the door swings open, two steaming mugs of tea floating alongside him. It's’ such a welcome sight she doesn’t have to force the smile that appears. He sets one cup on her bedside locker, rotating it slightly so the handle is nearer to her and then sits down on the armchair by the door. Mary sits back on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. 

“Good morning.” Remus greets, taking a cautious sip of his tea.  
  
“Morning,” she replies, holding her own mug in her hands. It's too hot to drink just yet, but she finds the warmth comforting, soothing. “It’s been a long time since I was greeted with a cup of tea in the morning, so thank you.”  
  
“Anytime.” Remus regards her for a moment with a soft frown on his face. “Did you sleep all right?”  
  
“One never sleeps well after they have kids.” Mary evades, her eyes focused on the loose hem of her jumper. She wonders if she could unravel the whole thing this way.  
  
“Mary..” says Remus knowingly. She looks up to see him watching her and the concern evident in his face both touching and near downright irritating. She's worried she’ll either start crying or bite his head off, so Mary avoids saying anything by taking a large sip of her tea. It burns her mouth so she swallows it quickly, hoping Remus doesn't notice her wincing. 

“If you don’t want to-”  
  
“I keep dreaming of him.” Mary blurts, interrupting Remus' attempt at backtracking. He stops, lowers his mug to the floor, and stares at her. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, and it hasn’t escaped Mary’s notice that he still seems uncertain about the pending trial, about Sirius in general really. Most of their time together had been preoccupied with Harry and Violet, or with spending time catching up. It has been remarkably refreshing, spending time with someone who just.. _Got_ you. Who understood you, at your core. Your history and your odd habits and quirks. Someone you didn’t need to explain yourself to, someone you didn’t need to hide parts of yourself with. A real, true _friend._   
  
“Bad dream I’m assuming?” he asks, despite his obvious discomfort. 

“Yes, usually. Sometimes it's just unsettling, but other times they can be downright awful, and-”  
  
“Wait, this is a frequent occurrence?”

“Yeah, every night for almost a week now..” Mary felt a blush rise in her cheeks. It was almost embarrassing, discussing a nightmare. She was twenty six for Christ's sake. “It’s stupid, just forget it.”

“If it upset you its not stupid.” Remus corrected gently. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, dreams are usually our subconscious’ way of speaking to us. Their way of expressing what we try to repress, what we try to ignore.”  
  
“Well it's annoying." She said childishly. "It feels like four years of these emotions and conflicted feelings just…” she gestures vaguely with her hand, but Remus nods.  
  
“I keep dreaming of him too. Of all of them.”  
  
A flicker of red. A flash of green. 

Grief feels neverending. 

They share a sad, familiar smile but sit quietly to drink their tea. The silence of the morning is comforting. It's stable, steady. 

They’ve barely begun to speak once again, more of a gentle chatter, when the door slowly swings open. With tousled hair and sleepy eyes, Violet stands in the doorway, her eyes lighting up with delight when she spots both her mother and Remus. She stumbles across the room and Mary reaches over to help her up onto the bed, Violet eagerly curling up into her mother's lap, still warm and soft with sleep.  
  
“I missed you.” Violet murmurs into her hair, and Mary feels her heart swell as she rubs gentle circles into Violets back.  
  
“I didn’t go anywhere.” she reminds her daughter. “Just to sleep.”  
  
“People are different when they sleep.” Violet argues through a yawn. “That can take you far away.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Where’d you go so?” she challenges her daughter, sharing an amused look with Remus.  
  
“I was in a big scary house, and everything was black and smelt like-like the attic. There was a mean elf and a lady who kept screaming.”  
  
Even though Violet sounded remarkably calm, it sounded like a somewhat frightening dream. Something must have woken her this early after all.  
  
“At you?” Remus asked, concerned.  
  
“No.” she shook her head, her dark curls flying everywhere. “At the man. He was funny. He argued with the lady in the painting and had lots of drawings on his arms.”  
  
“Sounds like an interesting dream.” Mary says, although she can’t quite shake the eerie feeling that has abruptly settled over her.  
  
“It was. I don’t think we should live there though.” she said seriously.  
  
“I think we’ll stay here, if that's all the same to you.” Mary says, although Violet misses her joking tone.  
  
“Good. I don’t think Harry would like it there.” Then, as though she hadn’t said anything at all. “Can I have pancakes for breakfast?”  
  
“Of course you can. Do you want help getting dressed?”  
  
“I can do it.” she says eagerly, clambering down from the bed and toddling off to her room. Up until this summer she and Harry had shared a room, partially because Violet was still so small, and partially because Harry had been frightened of sleeping alone. The first few weeks he had lived with them the three of them had slept in one room, lit by an array of candles until he had gradually become more comfortable in the dark. Shortly before Violets birthday it had been Harry himself who had suggested painting and decorating the room for her. It had been an extraordinarily sweet gesture (even if she did find that one of them had crept into the others bed during the night now and then). 

After a quick check to make sure Harry is still sleeping soundly, the three of them head to the kitchen, Remus bringing down Violet behind her. Mary has just about managed to shake that eerie feeling from before when she spots a familiar figure stalking across the yard. She turns to Remus, who also noticed.  
  
“What's McGonagall doing here?” he queries. She presumes he hasn’t seen her in a long time, and wonders if her presence invokes a strange mixture of sadness and familiarity for him too.   
  
“Not sure. Especially on a Sunday..” she trails off, turning to Remus once more. “Would you mind getting the door while I get a start on breakfast? Vi will be intolerable otherwise..”  
  
“Absolutely.” 

She hears him open the door and begin exchanging a somewhat awkward, but genuine greeting with their former Professor. Violet follows her, climbing up onto her usual chair and watching as Mary pulls out the various ingredients for their breakfast.  
  
“Can I help?” she asks. She’d been exceptionally sweet this morning, most likely due to her fun-filled day yesterday. It wouldn’t take long to change her mood though, and she hadn’t exactly warmed to McGonagall last time. Perhaps keeping her busy would be the best thing. 

“Why don’t you go round up the cats and feed them? Madra too?”  
  
“Okay!” she agrees, her face lighting up at the mention of their many animals. Honestly, it had started out with two cats, and now look at where they were..  
  
She doesn’t return for quite a while. By the time McGonagall and Remus are seated at the kitchen table with cups of tea Mary can hear her chatting away to the animals through the open window. She turns to face the other two.  
  
“Now, I have two things I wish to discuss with you.” Begins McGonagall brusquely. “In order to resolve the Magical registrar issue I have registered Violet under the surname Tyrrell, with Maire Tyrell as her mother. For the moment I have left her father's identification blank. Of course you may change this if Tuesday goes accordingly, and-” she breaks off, staring at Mary, who feels as though the rug has been jerked out from under her.

“Thank you.” she doesn’t want to imagine what her face looks like right now, her nails digging into her thigh at the mention of Tuesday. 

“Of course.” 

“What was the second thing?” Remus asks abruptly, his expression oddly intense. 

A beat, and then. 

“Yes. I went to Azkaban yesterday and was able to meet with Sirius and inform him of the trial.” 

_Oh._

Remus makes an odd choking noise, almost as though the air had been knocked from him. Everything else fades away.   
  
“You met with Sirius?” she blurts, feeling lightheaded. “I-I-what? How-? I couldn’t-” she stammers, her heart beating wildly. “How is he?”  
  
Silence. 

A cacophony of noise is rushing in her ears, her skin feels tight and uncomfortable and is it always this hard to breathe? Oh god, oh no, poor Sirius-

“Azkaban is about as charming as you’d expect.” Minerva answers finally. “But on the whole, he was better than I expected.”  
  
“Is he-Did he recognise you?”  
  
“Yes, he was remarkably coherent. That’s really what I wanted to discuss.”  
  
At this Mary looks up so quickly she feels a crick in her neck. Minerva’s expression is sincere, but it doesn’t stop the tangle of emotions from crawling up her throat. Sirius. Minerva has seen Sirius. _Sirius_. Her Sirius and-

“He’s ok?” her voice breaks, but she has to ask, has to know.

“He certainly is now.” Minerva takes a deep breath, Mary can feel her anxiety surge to new heights. “I wasn’t granted much time. But I told him about the trial, and I asked him if he had sold out Lily and James-”  
  
“And?” Remus demands, his tone as fierce and impatient as she had ever heard it. It would be bordering on rude if it wasn’t for the topic at hand.   
  
“He expressed guilt over their death, but no-” Mineveras own voice breaks in time with the pain surging in Mary’s chest. “No, he was adamant he would never. He said he wasn’t the Secret Keeper on All Hallows Eve.”  
  
Remus swears loudly. Mary feels a rattle in her chest as she struggles to take in a breath. Her emotions surge beyond comprehension. Like flames, dangerous and all consuming, roaring to life. The handle of her mug splinters and cracks. Minerva cuts off mid sentence at the sound. 

Embarrassingly, unexpectedly, Mary’s eyes are burning. The pain swells. Both McGonagall and Remus are staring at her with concern.  
  
“I’m fine.” she said, her voice sounds distant, even to her own ears. Nobody had asked. She backs up, her movements jerky, bumping into the doorframe and wincing in pain.  
  
“Mary, I-” 

“I’m fine Remus.” she dismisses, turning to flee only to be stopped in her tracks by Violet and Harry, the latter still in his pyjamas. Both children stare at her, confusion evident on both of their faces.  
  
“Mam?” asks Violet, taking a hesitant step forward, her eyes wide. 

Breathe. _Breathe._

She has to focus, she has to rein this in. She has to reassure her daughter. Reassure Harry.

"Remus will finish your breakfast darling." She barely has the time to look over her shoulder to receive a confused nod of agreement from Remus before she flees. 

Next thing she knows she's in the sky, higher on her broom than she would normally dare. The damp clouds floating past and through her, nearly indistinguishable from the moisture on her face. All we know is distance. We are close and then we run. 

It’s all too much and yet it’s not enough, not nearly enough. 

Now she's the one who's crying. Who's laughing.

*~*

“Peter.”  
  
Remus jumps at the sound of her voice and the thump of the broomstick landing on the grass beside him. He looks up at her, his brow furrowed. Mary throws herself down onto the grass beside him. She knows she’s being a little too brusque, but she isn’t quite sure how to handle this situation delicately.  
  
“I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.. My name is Remus actually. Remus Lupin.” he said mildly, glancing back down at his book.  
  
“Hilarious.”  
  
“I know, aren’t I?” any semblance of a smile fades as he leans in, his eyes soft. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Not in the slightest.” 

“Fair enough.” Surprisingly he doesn’t push the topic. Most likely because he’s still grappling with it himself. “Peter. What about him?”  
  
“Well Minerva, where is she by the way? She said that S-that he, he said he wasn’t the secret keeper. I’m presuming it wasn’t you, so-”  
  
“It certainly wasn’t me. I’ve been wondering the same myself.” Remus puts down the book that had been clutched between his fingers. “Minerva is minding the kids. She’s surprisingly.. Sweet with them.”  
  
“Ah she’s a softie deep down,” Mary dismissed. “She let you lot away with murder back in Hogwarts after all.”  
  
They both share a brief grimace at her choice of words, before Remus reluctantly steers them back towards her original topic.  
  
“We mourned him.”  
  
“Peter? Yeah, I know. His mother was-” inconsolable was too small a word, especially now. 

“Do you think-”  
  
“What d’ya reckon-”  
  
They exchange a tired smile when they both try to start speaking at the same time. It’s crossed her mind dozens of times over the years, Peter Pettigrew. Could it be? That simple and that horrible in equal measure. This is normally the point where she’d shove those anxious, niggling thoughts to the back of her mind, reminding herself that nothing can be done, that she’s powerless, and alone, and-  
  
But she’s not alone. Not anymore. Remus is here. Constant, understanding, and as lost and confused as herself. Minerva is also here. Minerva, who seems to be almost as on board with this as Mary herself. A sharp contrast to her life just over a week ago. And in just 48 hours, everything could be different once more. 

“I think it's certainly a possibility.” she says softly. Remus doesn’t argue that, which is more than she had hoped for. In a way, this is easier for her. Of course she’d always pick Sirius if it came to believing one over the other. Sirius was her- _hers_. Or at least he had been. She’d never been comfortable with the narrative they had been presented with. Remus on the other hand, had been close with both Peter and Sirius, in different ways. How does one choose between two brothers? Especially when one has been responsible for the death of another brother. It’s an unenviable burden.

“I just can’t wait until this is over.” Remus admits, drawing a hand through his shaggy hair. The sunlight catches his pale scars, and combined with his anxious expression he looks more vulnerable than usual. Her heart aches a little for him. “We won’t really know anything for certain until Tuesday.”

Mary is dreading that day, the trial, with equal amounts of dread and anticipation. Anxious for it to go the way it _should_ , and yet anxious for the fallout if it does. She can’t even begin to truly comprehend what will happen if they send him back to.. Or worse, if he really did-

“Remus.”

He turns back to her at the sound of her voice, her tone sharp. She falters, unsure how to voice this. Unsure about her future, her _daughter’s_ . Remus is _good_ , and kind, and yet.. There was a reason she kept her daughter's existence from the Magical World and nearly all those in it.

“No matter what happens, no matter what, we-”  
  
“It won’t change a thing.” Remus reaches over to clap her hand with his. “I’m here. For you. For all of you. That won’t change, no matter what the truth holds for us.”

Mary lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, and squeezes Remus’ hand tightly. He was a far better person than she had given him credit for, far better than she was really. She was much too hotheaded, too brash. Remus, of all people, deserved happiness. She wondered if someday he’d ever let his guard down enough to meet someone. He deserved that type of happiness. 

Mary hears the sound of Violet's pending arrival before she sees her, barely getting a chance to look up and see her run out of the house and straight for her. 

“Mammy!” Mary lets out a small _oof_ as Violet crashes into her. Violet grasps her mother’s face, looking at her studiously.  
  
“Yes..?” 

“Mammy, did you know people can become.. _Aminals?_ People like.. Like us, can turn into aminals! _”_ Mary tried not to smile at her daughters overexcited mispronunciation.  
  
“I did know that.” she confirmed. “You learn about it at Hogwarts.”  
  
“You didn’t tell me?” her blue eyes widen, almost accusing. 

“There’s so many things you learn at Hogwarts, when would I have the time to tell you about all of them?”  
  
Violet sucks in a breath, “Well-” she cuts off suddenly, leaning back to appraise her mother as though properly looking at her for the first time. “Mammy, why is your hair so crazy?”  
  
“Hmmn, is it?” Mary reaches a hand up to pat her hair. It feels frizzy and windswept. Based on her daughter's incredulous expression she must look a right sight. “I was flying.”  
  
“That doesn’t happen when you fly with me.” Violet insisted.  
  
“Maybe she flew into a tree.” Remus suggested, his tone soft and teasing.  
  
“What?” Violet's little gasp is adorable. “Did you, did you mammy? Oh that’d be ever so silly.”  
  
“Hey, I’m a good flyer.” Mary scoffed, mock offended.  
  
“Kind of,” said Violet dismissively. “Maybe you just wanted to see what kind of birds it had!”

“Kind of? Kind of?” Mary repeated, narrowing her eyes at her daughter. “That’s it.” She reached over and hoisted her up into the air by her waist, flipping her upside down. 

Violet giggled and giggled as though nothing funnier had ever happened to her. Mary could feel her daughters joy and delight leak into her too, until her own smile felt genuine once more.  
  
“Mammy, put me down!” she eventually managed through her laughter.  
  
“Sorry Vi-its the only known cure for naughtiness!” she reached over and tickled her. The three of them were laughing so much they didn’t hear another person’s arrival.  
  
“It’s good to know you do discipline your children.” said Minerva stiffly, although the corners of her mouth were twitching and her eyes were warm. Harry’s eyes were alight with happiness, and Mary couldn’t help but notice he seemed far more comfortable in Minerva’s presence than he had the last time. 

Once she let Violet down, the two of them made a beeline for Remus, asking him more questions about magic. He looked in his element explaining things to them. Something which gave Mary an intriguing idea. She noticed Minerva drawing closer and pushed that thought to the back of her mind.  
  
“I’m sorry.. About earlier.” she said, somewhat sheepishly to Minerva. Her emotions, although not lessened were certainly further from the surface now, and less volatile. She could just about manage to keep a lid on them with only the odd incapacitating moments of panic every now and then. It was like she was numb, almost frozen.

“No apology necessary. Perfectly warranted.”  
  
She raised a brow, surprised. “Under the circumstances?”  
  
“Yes, of course. Under the circumstances.”  
  
They shared a wry smile before delving into a surprisingly interesting conversation (that veered carefully away from all things to do with Sirius). Having Minerva speak to her like she was an equal was slightly confusing, but considering her admiration for the older woman it was certainly welcome. She doubted anyone else could have gotten Sirius a trial within a week. 

She watched the joyful children she loved scamper and play around the yard, undisturbed in their peaceful little world. Remus was right, they wouldn’t know anything until Tuesday, not for certain anyways. As long as they focused on this, on the happiness and joy of these wonderful little children-and themselves-then hopefully, everything would work out alright. 

*~*

  
_Tuesday, July 01st_

They were ready.

They’d researched, prepared, endlessly discussed and deliberated, (tried to keep their wildly fluctuating emotions under check). They had this. 

Everything except the tabloid journalists. 

How had they not seen that coming?

Mary had barely stepped out of the Floo, her thoughts still with Violet and Harry, when the flash and pop of the bulb impeded her vision. She blindly reached out, grabbing an arm that she _hoped_ was Remus’. The next thing she knew she was being propelled along at a quick pace, her legs barely keeping up. 

By the time her vision cleared, she was directly in front of the lifts, an irate Remus at her side and a pack of a dozen journalists all yelling and shouting excitedly over one another as they raced towards her. 

They might have been asking her questions, but Mary was too baffled to even begin listening to them, let alone comprehending. The lift doors slid open and Remus tugged her inside, the metal door clanging shut in one of the journalists faces.  
  
“Sorry.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, turning so she was shielded from them. As the lift speeded backwards, she saw him tuck his wand back onto his cloak sleeve.  
  
“Thank Merlin for your quick reflexes.” she muttered. Without him she’d probably still be at the floor, at the mercy of someone horrible like Rita Skeeter.  
  
“You alright?” he asked gruffly.  
  
“I just wasn’t expecting…” she still felt a little lightheaded. Remus didn’t look much better. She’d been a nervous wreck all morning, which wasn’t helped when she had to _leave_ the kids with a friend of hers. She trusted Millie as much as she trusted… anyone really. She knew they would be safe. But still, her hands feel empty without them at her sides.

Far quicker than she had expected, they’ve arrived, and this time the dark stone halls are even more ominous in their silence than the echoing and clanging of the journalists, so many floors above them now. They’re whisked into the courtroom by Minerva, and the high ceilings make her shiver despite the amount of people stuffed into the room. 

At the far side is Dumbledore, uncharacteristically anxious and pale. He’s not a fool, she knows that. Even he must be wondering if he had made a mistake. Venomously, she hopes the grief eats him alive. 

(He won’t be the only one). 

They seem to wait an age, Remus tense and coiled tight like a spring at her side and her own thoughts a dizzying mixture of apprehension and cautious, overly optimistic hope. Mary is so distracted she almost misses when Sirius finally does arrive, if not for Remus’ sharp intake of breath catching her attention. 

Flanked by an assortment of guards and a pair of Dementors, he looks smaller than she’s ever seen him. His clothes tattered and filthy, the deterioration of his body far worse than five years could entail. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t even _look_ like Sirius-

And then his head swivels around the room, only stopping as his eyes lay upon her own. The anxiety in his face flickers and fades away. She feels a weight upon her chest, as though she can’t breath. Her eyes stay focused on his own-his eyes, unchanged and unforgettable-and something passes through them she can’t quite name. 

They begin to read the charges, the details, the facts and figures. The morning passes by in a blur. 

A Pensieve. The blooming of a scene so ghastly and horrific. Bodies eerily still. The crying of an infant. A familiar wand, alight with the memories of spells cast. A trooping of witnesses. Then. His voice, croaky yet determined; a mixture of half truths-still nobly protecting Remus’ secret, even if it might lead to his own damnation-and throughout it all, his eyes remain fixed on hers. Dark and deeply evocative. 

It’s only Remus’ hand in hers, Minerva’s grasp on her other wrist that keeps her still. She doesn’t know what she would do if they let go. Perhaps she’d run. Away from here? Or to him? 

The Wizenmagot gather their ostentatious cloaks and silly hats to reconvene in a room away from the chamber, and the crowd has barely begun to buzz with whispers when Sirius is obscured by the guards, both human and Dementor. And then everything feels bright, echoey and distant and the ceiling looms ever closer, crowding in- and before she knows it she’s standing in the hallway, gasping for breath, the cool morning air a relief upon her face.  
  
“Breathe Mary, _breathe.”_ Remus coaxes, his own face pale and drawn.

His grip is tight on her arms, holding her up. She chokes down some water, her trembling hands splashing her dress and cloak. She’s grateful for this odd little alcove, away from prying eyes. He turns to lead her back inside and the fear rises up and begins to suffocate her once more. It all feels too much. Too much. Sirius, and the memories, and the sorrow and the _pain_ -

“Mary.” his voice is scolding, surprising enough to make her freeze. “You need to. You owe it to yourself. To Sirius.”  
  
Remus looks so worn that Mary feels something like shame slip and slide its way down her insides. How could she be so selfish? This is not solely her pain. She takes a deep breath. Another. And then-  
  
“Let’s finish this.” 

Her head is held high amongst the dim and uproar of the crowd clamouring both within and outside of the courtroom. They slip into their seats as the Wizenmagot file back in, their faces impassive.  
  
Sirius is stiff, his fear and tension evident in every feature of his body. He isn’t looking at her anymore. Maybe he's afraid. She certainly is. 

_Please, please, please, please_. Mary prays. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough, maybe she should have taken more account of those Muggle Gods, maybe-  
  
The judge rises. Everything is stagnant. Like the silence before a spell is cast.  
  
Mary can hear a crack in Remus’ hand as she squeezes it. The next moment seems to last an age before they finally hear their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave some feedback below :)  
> Also, if anyone is interested, Inch Beach is a real place, and its absolutely lovely.


	5. You and Me and Everything in Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius learns the true value of listening, and wonders what on earth he did to deserve this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I meant to have this uploaded on the 3rd in honour of Sirius Black's birthday, but time just got away from me. I actually wrote most of this chapter in one sitting one night, and I hope you all like it :)  
> Special shout out to my regular commenters! You guys always make my day :)

_Tuesday, July 1st, 1986_

Sirius can barely hear what they’re saying. Only one word sticks-  _ Innocent _ . He feels that word wash over him as the chains noisily fall away from his body. He stands in the middle of the cavernous room, unbidden and unrestrained. He can feel the tingle of the air rustling his clothes, his hair. Then the press of a wand-every carving and every ridge still so familiar- into his hands which are dangling uselessly by his side. He almost feels the darkness siphon out of his mind, turning to see the Dementors vacating the room. His mind is completely his own once more.

Sirius feels almost lightheaded with the suddenness of it all, the sharp contrast compared to what his life had been for the last few years. It’s as though everything has sharpened, come into clearer definition for the first time in a long time. He can see the courtroom emptying, most of them paying him no attention. But there’s only one person he cares about seeing. 

He turns to his right to see Mary.  _ Mary _ -his breathtaking and vibrant Mary- deep in discussion with Remus, his old friend gently trying to push her towards the centre of the room and she’s wringing her hands anxiously, biting her lip. As soon as he looks at her she turns to face him, almost as though he’d called her name tucking her hair behind her ear.   
  
He meets her gaze, studies it, the familiar features he loves so well, the ones he thought about for years; the brown eyes, and curves and gait, and immediately tries to smile. He can see  _ her.  _ He’s close enough to go over and touch her. He is allowed to. The muscles in his face are weak from lack of use, but as soon as he smiles, her whole face beams, the anxiety wiping away.    
  
Without any further hesitation she vaults herself over the row in front of her and hurries towards him, her long skirts whipping around her ankles. She's beside Sirius in mere seconds, her long arms wrapping around him, the only thing keeping him upright as he starts from the shock of being so close to another human being, so close without violence. He freezes, but only for a moment. The smell of her sweet, fragrant perfume washes over him like a wave. He gathers her in his arms and buries his face in her neck forgetting momentarily just how filthy he is. She keeps a hand on his lower back to steady him as he clings to her. 

He tries to take a breath, and finds he can’t. Something close to a sob is building in his chest, in his throat, and he clings to Mary desperately hoping it will stop it. He holds on tightly, opening his eyes every few seconds to stroke her arms, her waist, her hair, all to assure himself this isn’t a particularly cruel and vivid hallucination. Sirius notices she is shaking too, and when he pulls back just to look at her, her eyes are bright with tears. 

Mary traces his face with her small hands, staring deep into his eyes. His forehead rests against her own as he holds her face carefully in his own larger calloused hands. It’s as though the world has stopped, if only for a moment.    
  
All he can see is her. All he can feel, smell, touch, is  _ her _ .    
  
Finally, she speaks. She only manages to choke out one word. But one word is enough. One word somehow seems to convey longing, pain, the anger, fear and love all at once.    
  
“Sirius.”   
  
It’s more than enough. He buries his face in her mane of hair once more, and finally lets himself break down in her arms.    
  
Her arms stay tightly wound around him, and he doesn’t want her to ever let go of him again. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed as they cling to one another in the emptying, cavernous room, but he feels a gentle, yet persistent tugging at his sleeve. They break apart enough to see who it is, arms still wrapped around each other, and both their faces wet with tears.    
  
Remus is smiling, hovering beside them, somehow looking delighted and apologetic at the same time in a way that only Remus Lupin could manage.   
  
“I hate to interrupt, but…” he trails off awkwardly before continuing once more. “I heard some of those nasty reporters say they would wait for you in the atrium. I figured you two might not want to see them again, but I don’t know how else we can-” 

Mary stiffens, and swivels her head towards the door. She spots someone else over Sirius’ shoulder, and her eyes light up with an almost wicked gleam.    
  
“I can handle it.” she replies. She pulls herself away from Sirius, far enough so only her hand is grazing his own and he’s embarrassed to realise the mere act of that hurts more than he thought it would. He instinctively wants to hold on to her again and not let go, but he doesn’t want her to feel like he's forcing her to be near him. 

Mary wipes the tears away from her face with her thumbs then unties her hair and shakes it out. As she wraps her hair tie around her wrist her gaze is set on someone by the door. Sirius turns to see it's Everard, one of the more senior officials of the Wizenmagot.    
  
“Wait, Mary, what’re you-” Remus starts to ask. Mary puts a hand on his forearm, but doesn’t tear her gaze away from where the Wizard is methodically packing up his things.    
  
“Don’t worry about it Remus. I’ve got this” She squeezes Sirius’ hand before walking away, confident and determined. The two of them watch as she approaches the man, and he starts when he realises who has approached him, glancing over at them nervously before reluctantly focusing on Mary in front of him.   
  
He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see Mary gesturing towards the main doors before Everard shakes his head, a guilty expression on his face. He tries to move away, to brush her off, but Mary smoothly sidesteps him, blocking his hasty exit. 

“I’m so sorry.” Remus speaks suddenly, and Sirius turns to him. His friend is leaner than he’s ever seen him, and his pale face is stricken with regret.   
  
“Don’t.” Sirius dismisses, reaching for Remus. It’s not quite as comforting as hugging Mary, but the presence his only remaining friend, his remaining Marauder  _ brother _ , brings him a different kind of solace. “It could’ve just as easily been you.” He wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone, but especially not Moony. Remus hugs him back, gripping him tightly.    
  
The pair of them look back to see Mary say something that makes the elderly Wizard pale spectacularly. He hurriedly speaks to his assistant, who scampers off without a word. Sirius can see Mary say the words ‘ _ Thank you’ _ and Everard feebly jerks his head in acknowledgement. Mary strolls towards them with a smirk as the man exits through the double doors, looking smaller than he had before.    
  
He itches to reach out to her as soon as she’s close, to feel the comfort of her presence, but as soon as she reaches him, he doesn’t have to do anything. She moves into his arms, wrapping her own around him, her body aligned with his, but managing to still look at Remus. 

“Piece of cake.” 

“What did you do?” Remus asks shrewdly, glancing back at the direction through which the man had disappeared.    
  
“I arranged a portkey.”   
  
“For when?”   
  
“Now of course. His assistant has gone off to get it sorted.”   
  
“That’s...illegal.” Remus points out, though he’s smiling.    


“So is imprisonment without a trial.” she retorts, and Sirius feels something close to a laugh bubbling in his throat at how she manages to make that sound cavalier and bitter all at once.    
  
“How did you get him to agree to that? Everard is a known stickler for the rules. He’d never have agreed to that.”   


“Maybe not under normal circumstances,” Mary agreed. “But I may have implied that there were a few things I would mention to journalists if he didn’t provide us with an alternative, discreet way out of here.” She doesn’t elaborate any further, but winks.

Sirius laughs, the warmth of it making its way through his body like sunlight. Mary smiles at him, obviously pleased. The assistant soon hurries back with a small cardboard box. He looks a little confused, but hands it to Sirius directly without much preamble.    
  
“That’s due to depart for the coordinates provided in precisely two minutes.” he instructs, and nods at Sirius in acknowledgement before heading off in the direction of his boss.    


Silence lingers. The room is empty now, and although it doesn’t feel as cold or desolate as it had earlier, he still can’t wait to leave. 

“Where to?” he asks eventually, and Mary smiles up at him before speaking even softer than before. 

“Somewhere safe.” 

They all place their hands side by side, and Sirius closes his eyes tightly as the sickening lurch of the portkey whizzes the three of them away. It seems to last an age, and he holds on to Mary's arm tightly as he resists the urge to empty his stomach of what little contents it does have. 

Finally, they land.    
  
His head is pounding, his stomach lurching, and his legs are so weak that he is barely held up by both Remus and Mary, so he keeps his eyes firmly shut as they gently lower him to sit on the ground. He can feel hard soil and grass beneath his fingertips, and a pleasant breeze ripples over them, softer and warmer than the bitter northern winds than rattled the towers of Azkaban.    
  
He still feels like there’s a possibility that he may faint, so he pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them. It’s so quiet he figures they must be in a field of sorts, so they’re definitely not in London. Sirius hadn’t really considered that Mary or Remus may have left London, as they’d both technically been living there that fateful Halloween. When he focuses, he can hear a bird singing in the background, and the sound of a nearby stream running.    
  
The mere sound of water reminds him of just how unclean he is, it’s been years since he had a proper shower. He longs to just stand under a tap and let the water run down his body, finally getting the knots out of his hair, the buildup of dirt and grime from his skin. He realises Mary and Remus are still having a conversation, so he tunes back in to see what they are saying.    
  
“...I can handle that. Can you run to the apothecary and get some things?”   
  
“Of course, of course. Anything in particular?”   
  
“Anything you think he may need. I doubt they provided any sort of adequate healthcare while he was  _ there _ ... so perhaps some long-term healing potions and remedies?”    
  
“Shall I go to the nearest one, or..?” Remus sounds slightly wary,    
  
“Best not, I think. Would you mind using the floo to go somewhere a bit further? You never know who may recognise you, and we wouldn’t want some sodding reporters finding us out here. I don’t want to get sent to Azkaban for murdering someone, not now anyways.”

“That would probably be best,” Remus agreed. There’s a slight pause before Mary responds, and Sirius can hear the distinct clinking of coins. 

“Here, this should cover it.”   
  
“Oh, Mary, no, I can pay for-”   
  
“We both know that isn’t true,” Mary corrects softly. “Besides, I’d say they’ll be fairly costly.”   
  
“But I want to help, and I-”   
  
“You are helping,” Mary presses. After a pause, and with a distinct tone of irritation in her voice. “Please just take it already Remus.” There aren’t any further protests from him, and the only sound that follows is the soft clinking of money changing hands. 

“After that, do you want me to check on-”   
  
“Yes,” Mary interrupts hurriedly. “Yes, please. I mean, they should be alright there for quite a while, but if they’re not…” the anxiety in her voice makes Sirius crack an eye open. He can see her biting her lip again, and Remus is stroking her upper arm reassuringly.    
  
“I can take care of it,” he reassures Mary, his voice smooth and gentle. “Just focus on Sirius, yeah?   
  
“Okay, if you say so. But if there’s a problem-”    
  
“We’ll be fine.” he assures her. When he speaks again his voice is lower. “Any thought to how you’ll…?” he trails off meaningfully, an eyebrow arched. Confused, Sirius closes his eyes again as a new wave of vertigo rushes through him.    
  
“Not a notion,” Mary laughs, though there seems to be an undercurrent of fear there. “We’ll see how it goes. I’ll send you a Patronus once it’s all clear?”   
  
“Please do.” Footsteps, and then Sirius feels a slight pressure on his shoulder, and it’s only because it’s so familiar that he manages not to flinch. “See you later Sirius.”   
  
“See you Moony.” he replies after a beat, and the retreating footsteps pause.   
  
“Definitely Padfoot.” Remus responds after a moment, his tone so fond it leaves Sirius feeling warm inside. As the footsteps fade away, Sirius feels Mary lower herself onto the ground beside him. She doesn’t speak for a long time, and neither does he. He focuses on the smell of her perfume that wafts towards him with the wind, and the sound of nature rustling all around them.   


He moves his legs so that he’s sitting cross-legged, and Mary gently rests a warm hand on his knee. He opens his eyes fully for the first time to see her sitting in the same position next to him, running her right hand through the soft blades of grass next to her. He looks around to see that they are sitting in a field of wildflowers. The sheer amount of flowers accompanied by the bright blue sky above them is almost overwhelming after so many years in the dark, dank prison cells of Azkaban, and he has to look at the ground again to centre himself. He runs a hand through a patch of soil near him, focusing on the feel of the fresh earth. 

“We’re in Ireland.” he manages eventually, watching the soil run through his dirty fingers. He can hear a bee buzzing near his ear and almost flinches from the sound.   
  
“Good guess.” Mary replies softly, and he looks to his right to see her smiling softly at him. “How’d you know?”   
  
“Dunno,” Sirius shrugs, scratching his head. “I guess I just figured if you ever left London, you’d come back to Ireland.. Do you.. Do you live here?” his voice sounds rusty from lack of use, and it makes him feel a little embarrassed.    
  
“I live in a house just through the trees there.” she points towards a nearby cluster of trees. “It’s near enough to a Muggle village, so I figured it would be safer to arrive here instead.”   
  
“Really?” he can’t help but be surprised. He never thought Mary would leave London, she loved it so much when they left Hogwarts. They’d spent countless days and nights wandering through the Muggle and Wizarding parts of the city, exploring the different neighborhoods and learning about the different subcultures. It had been one of the happiest periods of his life. Carefree and bursting with joy.    
  
“Yeah.. Sort of a long story really. But I’ve been living mainly in the Muggle world for a few years now. We’re not too far from Kenmare though, if we need anything.” As they’d been talking she had gently pulled a few daisies from the grass and begun creating a daisy chain of sorts. It’s something he’s seen her do numerous times throughout their years at Hogwarts, gathered together down by the lake, or in the numerous parks and gardens throughout London post-Hogwarts.    
  
He doesn’t miss her saying  _ we _ , and it makes him smile. He doesn’t want to assume that necessarily means him, or that he can even stay with her, or even assume that she still… wants him. But he pushes it out of his mind for the moment, even if it makes him nervous. Sirius fondly remembers his trip to Kenmare when he was in secondary school, it was one of the main Wizarding villages in Ireland. The memory is a little bittersweet of course, being the last time Mary had seen her own mother before she had been killed.    
  
Sirius studies Mary for a moment as she concentrates on looping each daisy together. She looks older than he remembers-which she is of course-but there are some very fine lines around her eyes, and a slight crease between her brows that are only noticeable as he once knew her face so well. There even seems to be a few stray silver hairs by her temples. Her left sleeve is still pulled down to her wrist, despite the warmth of the day, and the memories it brings makes him frown.    
  
She looks up and catches him staring at her. She quirks a brow: “What?”   
  
“You look tired.” he admits, almost without meaning to, and she looks back down at her lap, where flowers are strewn across it.    
  
“Yeah, I suppose I do,” she sighs, fiddling with the petals on one of the daisys. “Didn’t really sleep much last night. Too nervous.”   
  
“I know the feeling,” he replies dryly.

She looks at him for a moment, studying him before she suddenly drapes the daisy chain she had been making over his head. It hangs haphazardly over his knotted and tangled hair like a crown. She smiles softly, almost teasingly at his sudden appearance and surprised reaction. 

The simplicity, the sweetness of it all makes him feel a little overwhelmed, and he reached out and grabs Mary’s hand without realising. It’s more unsettling than he thought it would be,  _ freedom _ . It’s as though his emotions had been muted all these years, and now they’re all slamming up into him, vying for dominance. He doesn’t know what he wants, what to do, what to say. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. Mary seems to understand at least some of it without him saying anything. She uses their joined hands to tug him down until they’re both lying in a prone position, curled towards each other. Staring into her warm brown eyes, he’s reminded of all the times they had lain this way over the course of their relationship, all the times he had woken up to her next to him. Under the warmth of the sun, or tangled in the sheets together, or under the starry Scottish skies.    
  
He feels angry, and sad and relieved all at once, and judging by the expression on her face, she feels along the same lines. He  _ knows  _ the separation over the years must have hurt her too. He doesn’t know the extent of course, but he vows to find out the truth as soon as he can. She yawns, before smiling at him again. He wants to be closer to her, closer to her warmth, her radiance, but he’s aware that he isn’t exactly looking his best, and doesn’t want to put her off.    
  
“Wake me.. If you need to.” she mumbles, and he almost laughs at how suddenly sleepy she is. Looks like some things truly don’t change. Her eyelids are dimming slowly, and he finds himself copying her without realising. The sound of her slow breathing lulls him to sleep too. Surrounded by flowers, under a sunny sky, he falls asleep next to the only girl he’s ever loved.    
  
For the first time in over four years, he sleeps without nightmares.    
  
*~*

Sirius wakes up with a start to the feeling of something wet on his leg. He props himself up on his elbows, and looks around him, bewildered. The summer sun is still high and bright in the sky, so he can’t have been asleep for long. Either he or Mary were shifting around in their sleep though, as their legs are now tangled together, and her arm is draped over his thin torso. She is still fast asleep, so he doesn’t move any further to risk waking her. He doesn’t want to move away from the comfort of her touch either.   
  
A small whine catches his attention, and he looks down to see a dog sitting at their feet, his head cocked to the right as he watches them. Like many times before, he wonders if dogs can sense that he himself, is a dog part of the time. This dog is black and white, with pointed ears- the type that often herds sheep. He looks healthy, and well-groomed, a sharp contrast to Sirius’ own Animagus which reflects his currently filthy appearance.    
  
The dog ducks his head and licks at Mary’s ankles. She shifts slightly, rolling to her right, brushing against him as she does so. The dog whines again, sounding impatient, before licking her ankles again. She wakes up laughing-the sound like music to Sirius’ ears-as she pulls her feet away from the dog. She sits up part way, her brown hair tumbling past her shoulders, blades of grass running through it and looks around with mild confusion before smiling at him in recognition.    
  
“Hey.” she greets sleepily, relief evident in her tone, resting her head against his shoulder. She smiles at the dog and he rushes forward, moving close enough for her to stroke his head and ruffle his ears gently. After a moment he settles down beside her, his head resting on his paws with a wary gaze, watching Sirius closely.    
  
“Hey yourself.” he replies. “Er, there’s a dog here.”   
  
“I’ve noticed.” she strokes the dog’s head again. “This is Madra.”   
  
“Madra?” he queries, the name unfamiliar and almost foreign sounding. “Wait, is he yours?”   
  
“It’s an Irish word. It means dog.” she shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve had him for almost two years now.”    
  
“You got a dog?” he asks, astonished. Although she’d always had a fondness for his own Animagus form, Mary had owned cats as long as he’d known her. She’d even temporarily lost her kitten on their first journey on the Hogwarts Express.    
  
“Calm yourself,” she rolls her eyes affectionately. “I also have numerous cats, don’t worry. I haven’t changed that much. Besides, I missed having an old mutt around the place.” she looks almost regretful after she says this last part, as though worried he’ll take it the wrong way.    
  
“Good to know.” he winks at her, and she chuckles, as though glad to see him acting like himself. He puts a hand out to the dog hesitantly, and the dog sniffs him for a minute before seeming to decide he doesn’t pose any looming threat.    
  
“Want to go inside?” she asks, looking away from him as she adjusts her hair. She sounds almost nervous, so he gives her a moment to gather herself and focuses on gently petting the dog.    
  
“I’d like that.” he replies, and she lets out a breath, flashing him a shaky smile. 

“Right,” she nods resolutely before getting to her feet, she holds out a hand to help him up, and he takes it, even though he feels more energetic than he has in a long time. They walk together towards the trees, and it strikes him just how odd it is to see Mary acting… nervous, around him. He’s never seen her nervous, not regarding him at least. The dog, Madra, leads the way, glancing back at them every few metres or so as if to check they’re still coming with him.    
  
As they pass through the trees, the air is noticeably cooler here. The dappled sunlight pokes through the leaves, intermittently lighting up the flora and twigs of the forest floor. It’s beautiful and peaceful, and reminds him a little of the woods near Potter Manor. It makes him feel almost homesick-for both the memories there, and the life he’d once had. That forlorn, homesick feeling crawls under his skin-the same one that settled in every June on the Hogwarts express, and didn’t disappear until he saw James’ laughing face once more each Autumn. It makes him wish he could turn into Padfoot and just run through the forest. Things always feel easier to deal with in dog form.    
  
But at the same time, he does want to be here, with Mary, her slim hand in his, by his side. He wants to be near her, he wants to relearn everything he can about her-if she’ll let him. Sirius wants to try to heal what they can between them. He doesn’t know what she’s feeling right now, but he can imagine it’s overwhelming for her too.    
  
As the distance between the trees grows they reach a broad clearing surrounded by a myriad of trees and flowers. In the midst of all this is a cottage that looks as though it’s straight out of a children's story book; almost like something he remembers James and Lily reading to Harry. The dog happily bounds forward, stopping at the back door and wagging his tail expectantly.   
  
“You live here?” he asks, taken aback. The sprawling, peaceful environment is a long cry from the compact, central, urban apartment they once shared.    
  
“Yeah. It used to be my grandmothers. She passed away before I went to Hogwarts, but we used to come here sometimes. To get away.” She leads him down a pathway towards the door where Madra is waiting, deftly stepping over sprawling weeds and stray branches as she walks. 

“She was your mother's mum so?” Sirius queried, recalling the woman who Mary resembled so well. She smiles softly at the mention of her maternal figures. 

“Yeah, she was a Muggle actually. She was wonderful. When my mother died, I inherited this house, and it felt.. safer out here.” She doesn’t look at him as she says this, focusing on the tiny key strapped to her wrist instead, her hands shaking ever so slightly.    


He wonders what, or who, she’s been hiding from. 

*~*

The boiling water beats a staccato against his head and chest. He feels like laughing as the fresh, warm droplets coat his skin. He feels more alive under this faucet than he did for the entire four years in Azkaban.    


Sirius watches the dirt swirl down the drain, and starts to scrub his body clean. Tattoos he hasn’t seen in years resurface beneath the layers of grime and filth. It takes him much longer than he expected, his skin cracking and peeling from the force of his efforts. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, but once he can see the skin between his toes, he starts on his hair. It takes four washes before he can run his fingers through it, and he finally turns off the shower.

He steps out to grab a towel that Mary had left on the counter, and is surprised to see a collection of potions and pastes there. One seems to be for his teeth, another for his skin, his hair, along with a variety that seem to be for improving nutritional deficiencies, his bones and even one for mind healing. He wraps a towel around his waist and lets the rest of his body air dry as he takes the recommended dose described on each bottle.    
  
By the time he turns to look in the mirror once more, he doesn’t recognise himself. 

His hair is longer than he’d ever kept it, tumbling past his shoulders. His skin is clean, almost sickly pale, adorned with tattoos and healed scars. He can see his collarbone poking out, and feels almost sick when he realises just how thin he is. He’s got more muscles than he did when he was playing Quidditch though. He runs his tongue over his teeth, and is pleasantly surprised at how normal they feel. He notices a folded set of clothes on top of a basket next to the door. Judging by their muted grey and earth tones he guesses they might be Remus’ clothes, and feels like a school boy playing dress up once he pulls them on. 

Sirius finds Mary sitting at the bottom of the stairs, the dog curled at her feet, looking at her adoringly as she strokes his long, shaggy coat. He sits beside her, his bare feet next to her own socked ones. 

“You look good.” she comments after observing him for a moment, her voice as soft as her eyes.    
  
“I look like Remus.” he responds, picking at a stray thread in the shirt. More for something to say that any real issue with the clothing provided.    
  
“Yeah, like I said, good. Looking like Remus is definitely an improvement.” he looks up, startled, and notes the cheeky look in her eyes. He almost leans in to press his lips to hers; an old, forgotten reflex. But he forces himself to stay still, and speaks instead, his tone carefully light.    
  
“Never figured Re was your type.” he remarks.    
  
“Eh, not too picky.” she shrugs, winking at him. He smiles so she knows he isn’t taking it seriously. 

He had been surprised by the lack of personal photos or decoration in Marys room on his way down. He hadn’t even glanced at the other doors on the floor, feeling as though he’d be intruding if he had. But she had always been fond of developing photographs she’d taken; of the group, of their adventures, of flowers and animals she thought were cute. The room didn’t look like hers without it. But he doesn’t comment on that.    


“Thanks for all the potions. They helped.”   
  
“I’m glad.” she smiles at him. “Remus stopped by,” she adds as she stands up slowly, stretching as she does so.    
  
“But he had to go check in on someone.” It wasn’t a question. Not really. But he remembers overhearing them discuss someone while he was recovering from the Portkey.    
  
“Yes,” she nods. “He did.” As she turns around her eyes meet his briefly, but she looks away again before he can even begin to decipher the look on her face. 

She doesn’t provide any more information so he doesn’t ask, doesn’t push the issue. She sits on the back of the sofa, running her hand over a wrinkle in her skirt, and he watches her twitch for a moment. He doesn’t know how to fill the silence, and doesn’t know if he wants to either. He wants to hear what she has to say. What she wants. He wants to know how she's feeling.    
  
Even if he could put words to the tumultuous feelings roaring inside him, he doesn’t know if he wants to. He’s had enough time alone with his thoughts. Slowly, he stands up and moves towards her, and she immediately turns her body so she’s facing him more directly. He’s never paid this much attention to her every move and gesture, even before they’d gotten together, but he’d never felt as unsure of himself, of everything-as he does now. He normally acts on impulse, trusting his gut instincts. But this is too important. Mary, who's here in front of him at last, bright and strong and yet oddly fragile at the same time, is far too important. 

He takes in his surroundings for a moment. They're standing in a bright, airy sitting room; comfy couches are draped with throws, the walls and shelves are filled with paintings and photographs. It looks so much like… home. He even recognises some pieces from their old flat-a wicker chair, a chest they would keep full of soft blankets and pillows, a few paintings of Mary’s, and a rug he'd found in Camden. 

He can feel her looking at him, and he shifts his gaze towards her to catch a smile on her face. He reaches for her hand, and she holds it tightly.    
  
“Hungry?” she asks.   
  
“Oh Merlin, yes.”   


“C’mon, I can make something.” she stands up fully, but doesn’t let go of his hand, tugging him along with her.    


He follows her into a cramped, but bright kitchen. The dog follows them in, sitting at Sirius feet as they both watch Mary assemble a sandwich and place in it a frying pan. When she sits back down her knees knock against his, and he feels the itch to be closer to her once more. But he doesn’t move. He can’t. Not until she knows what he wants.    
  
“So-”   
  
“I was wondering-”   
  
They both attempt to start speaking at the same time, and smile awkwardly at each other when they both stop once more. She gestures for him to continue, and he remits, only because this question has been nagging him from the moment they got here.    
  
“Harry.”   
  
At the simple utterance of the boy's name, his godson's name, James’ son's name, her whole face lights up. She reaches for his hands, enclasping one of them in her own smaller ones.

“Harry, he’s wonderful. He’s, oh Sirius, you’d love him. He’s clever, remarkably funny. He’s just like James, to look at except you know-”   


“The eyes, yeah, I remember.” he stares at their hands, he doesn’t want to talk, he just wants to listen. To hear her talk about Harry. He wants to know everything he can.    
  
“He’s sweeter though, he’s… sensitive.” there's something in her eyes akin to guilt, and it throws him for a moment. “Very sensitive.”    
  
“Does he-” he stops, clears his throat, ignoring her peculiar reaction for a moment. “Does he, know who I am?”   
  
“Yeah, I told him about you. Even before we knew you’d be getting a trial. He knows plenty of stories of Moony, Padfoot and Prongs.” 

“Does he…” he stops, looks around the tiny kitchen as though he's expecting him to pop out of the woodwork. He spots a pair of small blue shoes in the corner spattered with mud. “Does he live here?”   
  
“Yeah.” there’s that funny look in her eyes again. Guilt maybe, or even a touch of fear? He doesn’t know what he’s said to make her look like that, but his brain scrambles for an idea to fix it. She speaks first though. “Harry lives here now.”   
  
“Now?” he doesn’t miss that. “He didn’t always?” his tone sharper than intended.    
  
She leans back, her hands loosening their grip on his as she speaks. “No, not always.” She pulls away completely, away from him, turning towards the hob to check on the sandwich cooking there. He immediately feels her loss, and scrambles to try and fix it, to try and bring her back.    
  
“Sorry, I-” his voice is gruff as he tries to explain, to apologise for the way he spoke. To bring her back to him.    
  
“No need.” she holds up a hand as if to silence him. When she turns back around and sits down, there's something tired, almost resigned in her expression. 

“Harry has only lived here for about a year and a half. When they took you away-” her voice breaks, and she clenches her fists, inhaling deeply. She starts again. “When they took you away, I was distraught.” she avoids his eyes for a moment, as though admitting her feelings makes her weaker in some way. “I didn’t actually leave the Ministry until I was forced to, and then-” she pauses once more. And Sirius knows there's a lot that isn’t being said in that silence. Mary looks frustrated as she visibly struggles with how to articulate what she needs to.

“It’s okay.” he says gently, reaching for her hands. She clasps his own straight away, and meets his gaze once more.    
  
“By the time I was able to get in touch with Dumbledore regarding Harry, he informed me that he had acted unilaterally and placed Harry somewhere safe, somewhere secret, somewhere away from the Wizarding World.”   
  
“You’ve got to be joking?”   
  
“Sadly, no. Remus and I.. discussed it, and well, he was keen to follow Dumbledore's orders, as Dumbledore almost always... knows best.”   
  
“You still think that?” he asks. His own feelings for someone he would have once considered a role model are more than a bit muddled at the moment.    


“No, definitely not.”   
  
He looks at her for a moment, her mouth pressed into a thin, sharp line. She looks so annoyed it makes him worry about where it was he had placed Harry. Monty and Fee had died before getting the chance to meet him, and as far as he knew James and Harry had been the last remaining Potters. So it must’ve been with Lily’s family.. 

“No.” he gasps, the realisation like a slap to the face.    
  
Mary nods, her jaw set and eyes blazing. She darts up again to remove his food from the hob, but her movements don’t hold the same tenseness they did the last time. But Sirius on the other hand-he’s seething. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t quite trust himself to. He’s not particularly fond of the sound of his own voice anyways. It sounds hoarse and desperate and almost frightening. 

When Mary sits down again, he watches her closely. Her dark hair is pushed away from her face, which looks almost like he remembered. But there’s evidence of sleepless nights and a face wound tight with worry that he knows can’t solely be from his pending trial.

“I don’t know if you want to…” she trails off, before finishing in a firmer tone. “I don’t know if you want to hear this yet Sirius,” the sound of his name in her voice sends a jolt through him. “You must be feeling overwhelmed.”   
  
Try as he might, he can’t quite deny that. It’s somewhat bewildering to compare this cosy little kitchen and idyllic cottage with the cell that he woke up in. He can almost hear the brutal crash and echo of the waves if he strains his ears, and part of him worries that he’s going to open his eyes to find that this has been a particularly vivid hallucination.    
  
With more caution than he can recall ever using in his previous life, he replies to Mary’s concern.

“You may be right.” he hesitates for a moment before stretching his arm out to take a hold of her hand. She immediately opens her hand to clasp with his, and that makes him feel even more certain of his choice. “Maybe that can wait for another day. I just need to know that he’s happy.”   
  
“He is.” she vows, her hand squeezing his gently. “I promise you that.”   
  
“That’s enough for now.”   
  
A part of him, the reckless, stubborn part of him feels like protesting vehemently at this decision. Better to find out now, better to know the full details of what had happened to his little godson. But that kind of thinking was part of what got him here in the first place. 

26 years old and nothing to show for it but a rap sheet and an an array of emotional issues and trauma. 

Looking at Mary’s concerned face, he knows he made the right decision in that regard at least. He trusts that she’ll tell him everything he needs to know; when he asks. 

Instead, he tucks into his sandwich. Maybe it’s just in comparison to the food in Azkaban, but it feels like the best sandwich he’s ever eaten. Warm and comforting, almost as pleasant as the feeling of the soft summer sun on his face. 

“Sirius,” begins Mary cautiously when he pauses for a moment. She’s over by the sink, filling up the kettle. It doesn’t escape his notice that she’s doing it the Muggle way, and he wonders if it’s just habit or if she’s nervous for some reason. 

“Yep?” he watches her turn around, and she looks inexplicably nervous. 

“This may sound stupid. But I just wanted to check. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable, and I-” she glances at his face before looking back down. “You’re happy staying here, yes? With.. me?”   
  
Oh. 

It was a question he had simultaneously been looking forward to getting over and dreading. He had been avoiding really thinking about it, because of course, why would Mary want him here? This was a lovely, peaceful little life that she had for herself. Why would she want an ex-convict here, ruining all the tranquility that she had built up. He hadn’t been even able to consider whether or not she still, you know,  _ wanted  _ him. It had been almost five years. 

Strictly speaking, she didn’t owe him anything. Judging from what Minnie had said, she had worked to even get him the trial in the first place. She didn’t owe him anything more. But where else would he go? Remus was always an option of course, and the streets would be better than Grimmauld. The truth of the matter was he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but by her side, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated, not in the slightest. 

“If you don’t-” he stops, not entirely sure what he wants to say. 

“I want you here.” she blurts, his head jerks up sharply at that proclamation. She hastens to continue, to explain herself. “If you want to be here, that is. If you’re comfortable. I know it’s different from what you’re used to, or perhaps you want space. But personally, I’d be happier with you here.”   
  
“So would I.” the smile that he can’t quite hold back makes his face feel funny, stretching the dormant muscles in his face. “I’d like that a lot.”   
  
They go back into the garden shortly afterwards, their journey leisurely and uncharted. Mary tells him the name of some plants he doesn’t recognise, and in one corner the smell of flowers is almost intoxicating. They pass by a pond at one point, and he catches a glimpse of their reflection-Mary, cloaked in blue with her hair loose around her face looking like a mirage as she leads the way and him, looking more like a ghost, a mere impression-before the ripple of a fish swimming close to the surface scatters the image. 

“That’s the pathway to the village,” she points, and just past her shoulder he can see a small sign saying ‘Máire’s Cottage’ next to bright flowers that are high enough to reach his shoulders.   
  
“Máire?” he repeats.   
  
“No, like Maura. It’s the Irish version of my name.”   
  
“Oh, that’s odd.”   
  
“I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I don’t actually go by Mary MacDonald anymore.”   
  
“Huh,” he isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. She’d been Mary MacDonald as long as he’d known her, or just Mary really. Máire sounded like a different person.    
  
“I use my mum's surname now.” There’s something tight and controlled in her face as she speaks, which is horribly familiar to him. “Máire Tyrrell.”   
  
Sirius hasn’t forgotten the things Mary had told him about her father. So he doesn’t question this choice in the slightest. He feels a flare of anger at the mere thought, so he can’t begin to imagine how she felt whenever she was called by the name he had given her. Máire Tyrrell sounds like a complete stranger though. Idly, he wonders if that was part of the reasoning for the change. The memory of her hand shaking as she unlocked the door, not two hours ago still lingering in his mind.   
  
“That sounds different.” he comments softly. “Understandable of course. But is there any reason why?”   
  
She takes a step closer to him, and he can see the scatter of light freckles below her brown eyes. She’s biting her lip as though she’s trying to stop herself from saying something, and he can’t help but feel irritated at the secrecy even if he knows he has no right to know the details of every facet of her life. 

“Yeah, you could say there's a few reasons.” her voice sounds further away than the metre between them. The tension in the air is palpable, and as ever Sirius wants nothing more than to get away from it. He'd never been good at handling tension. He’d usually run from it. Unintentionally he casts a glance at the pathway towards the village.    
  
“I like the flowers.” he comments idly, gesturing at the small purple-blue flowers that adorn the pathway. A fat little bumblebee bustles over to a small cluster, moving to and fro with ease. 

“Funny you should mention.” Mary replies faintly, a look on her face that he really doesn’t like. It almost looks like she’s trying to avoid a blow and he wonders what on earth can make her feel this way. Instinctively he reaches for her, his hand brushing hers before she pulls away.

His stomach drops. 

Mary stares at the ground for a moment, an expression that looks like a curious mix of recklessness and fear. She peers up at him, eyes intense as though she’d about to fling herself off a cliff. He hasn’t seen her look like this since one horrible winter day when they’d all been ambushed in Diagon Alley. 

He swallows back the memory of James, so  _ alive _ and ferocious and full of fight, and focuses on the now. Focuses on Mary. What on earth could make her look like that? Like she was preparing to fight?    
  
When she finally speaks, her voice is stiff, disjointed, her fingers clutching at the loose sleeves of her light summer cloak. 

“Harry’s only lived here for a year and a half.”   
  
“So you said.” 

“Right, of course.” she runs a hand through her hair, loose tendrils waving back and forth in her wake. “This delay wasn’t something I liked, nor was it.. Something I had planned on.” she stares at him then, her hands twitch for a second. He wants nothing more but to grab one of her hands and tug her to him. To hold her, to guarantee that everything would be alright. 

But he’s supposed to be careful. Cautious. He doesn’t want to.. Push her. To pressure her at all. But whatever this is that’s trying to make its way out of her looks so sodding painful he wants to go with his first instinct.

She lets out a deep breath. 

“I wasn’t able, I wasn’t  _ well enough  _ to fix it, to go and get him, to  _ fight  _ for him.” Idly, Sirius wonders if the guilt in her voice is about more than just Harry.

“Mary,” he tries, his voice little more than a croak. “It’s okay-”   
  
“No, it’s not!” her voice is unexpectedly shrill, and a bird flutters away in fright. She watches it go with an expression close to envy. 

“Mary, we don’t need to-”   
  
“No, Sirius, you don’t understand.” she bites her lip. “I wasn’t able because..because..” She looks so small and fragile now that  _ fuck it _ , he bridges the distance between them and takes her into his arms. His concern about her wellbeing overriding his fear of rejection. He’s Sirius fucking Black goddamnit, and he isn’t going to let something like caution stop him from being there for the woman that he loves. 

To his resounding relief, she doesn’t push him away, but just holds onto him even tighter. Her arms wind around his waist like he’s a life preserver, and his heartbeat eases back to a normal beat. She feels so  _ right _ in his arms, that all he wants to do is hold her closer, tighter, and say fuck it to whatever it is that she feels she needs to tell him. 

After several long moments, she pulls back to look at him. Her dark, achingly familiar eyes are bright with tears that he doesn’t quite understand. She reaches a hand up between them, and for a frightening second he thinks she’s trying to push him away. He starts to let go of her, only to freeze once more when she shakes her head. Instead of pushing him away, her hand is curling up to a silver locket around her neck. It’s dainty and silver, the chain so thin you almost wouldn’t notice it. 

With slightly trembling fingers, she tugs it open and speaks, her voice full of conviction.

“Sirius, we have a daughter.”   
  
For a moment, her words don’t register, blowing past his mind like leaves on a winding path. Instead he’s stock still, his mind empty and spinning like a Quaffle soaring out of reach. He blinks, once, twice, to see Mary’s face staring up at him. He looks down to see the locket, tucked into its oval sides are two little photographs. 

A small, awkward looking boy with a sweet smile under a familiar shock of black hair. Even though he’d known, the resemblance to Prongs still makes his heart stutter and a lump swell in his throat. Round glasses are perched on his nose, and he waves shyly in the photographer.  _ Harry.  _

The other photo brings forth a tumultuous wave of emotions. A girl of maybe two or three, dark curls surrounding her face as she giggles at a familiar dog poking his head into the frame to give her a massive slobbery kiss on her cheek. It feels like some kind of bewitchment, seeing his own features mingled with Marys on a toddlers face. All apart from the eyes. The piercing blue, unwaveringly innocent bright blue eyes that are simultaneously overwhelming familiar and foreign to him. 

_ A daughter. _

_ A daughter. _

_ A daughter.  _

Mary’s words echo through his mind, and he feels dizzy from the fluctuation of his emotions in response. Shock, joy and fury clash and clang, and he doesn’t quite know what to settle on.

Instead, he mumbles like an idiot. “A daughter?”   
  
“Yes,” Mary’s smiles, her eyes shining bright with both cautious joy and unshed tears. “A daughter.”   
  
“I-I-” he stumbles over his words, feeling slightly delirious. “Her name, what?”   
  
“Violet.”

He looks back to the violets that dot the pathway near them, their colour bright and flickering like candlelight. He feels slightly light headed, and he clutches at Mary, his fingers tight on her own. She steers him towards the riverbed, gently pushing him towards the grassy bank beside it. He lands clunkily on the grass, his hands reaching out to grip the sharp little blades of grass. 

The sun feels heavy and harsh on his face, and for a moment he feels like he doesn’t know where he is. If he's up, down, or floating. With a pang he wonders if this is how James felt when Lily told him about Harry. That lovestruck idiot had looked so stunned he had been momentarily worried than she actually had stunned him. Before his face burst into a smile so wide it looked liable to split him in two. 

No, Sirius doesn’t quite feel the way James did. There’s an inescapable feeling of loss that accompanies this life-changing utterance. It’s undeniable, and he feels like his feet have been swept out from under him once more. 

This day is starting to feel more like a century than just one day. A small, distant part of him that he had long thought lost reminds him of whispered conversations under the bedclothes with Mary, their skin as bare and exposed as the words dancing on their tongues. Wishes and hopes for a child, just like this one, for a small little being of wonder and joy.  _ Theirs _ . 

He’s filled with a sudden longing, an almost hunger to see that picture again. That sweet, smiling little girl who just couldn’t possibly be his. He looks up to see Mary crouching before him, the locket still held in her hands. Trembling slightly, he reaches for it and Mary hands it to him without hesitation. He drinks in the image of his  _ daughter _ . Of this little girl he doesn’t know, and couldn’t in his wild dreams begin to fathom before today. 

His mind, already fuzzy and very bewildered, tries wildly to do the math. Mary seems to read his mind, or perhaps that's what she's thinking about too. 

“She turned four last month.”   
  
“When?”   
  
“The 18th.”   
  
June 18th. Peculiar. His cousin Narcissa and Regulus were around then too. All right around the summer solstice. A significant day in Wizarding culture, and he wishes Remus were here to tell him the meaning of this. The spiritual significance. 

He can’t bear to say Regulus name out loud, so instead he chases that last, listless thought. “Remus-that’s where he is, isn’t it?”   
  
“Yes, he’s checking on her and Harry. They’re staying with a friend of mine today. I figured it might be overwhelming if..”   
  
Right, of course. If he was a fucking basket case it may have frightened the children. He keeps looking at the picture. Two children, so unalike in disposition, but if he squinted he would have almost thought it was him and James in miniature. He couldn’t tell if this was a blessing or a curse quite yet. 

“Sirius?” Mary sounds tentative. “Are you alright?”   
  
He looks up at her, resounding love and awe thundering through him at the mere sight of her face. The mother of his daughter. 

“Tell me,” he manages, hoarse and raw. “Tell me everything.”   
  
Mary smiles softly, and when he reaches for her, he feels nothing but certainty when he listens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated! Thank you very much for reading! :)


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